


My Empire Grows By One

by Gargant



Category: Original Work
Genre: Developing Relationship, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:02:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27784168
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gargant/pseuds/Gargant
Summary: It feels like Emperor Louiz wants to befriend him, but Prince Deir has too much pride for that. Even here, isolated in the heart of a foreign Empire, he won't be controlled so easily...
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character, Unloved Prince Of A Conquered Country/Conquering Emperor Who Adores Him
Comments: 7
Kudos: 29
Collections: Heart Attack Exchange 2020





	My Empire Grows By One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tentacledicks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tentacledicks/gifts).



> Thank you so much for your delightful prompts, recip, and I hope you enjoy this story as much as I enjoyed writing it! It has been wonderful working on this for you.
> 
> additional warning: non-graphic description of culturally accepted & consensual cannibalism

Standing in the courtyard of a foreign manse, further from his homeland than any son of Kerryman had any right to be, Deir was overwhelmed by only one inescapable truth—he had never felt so _hot_ in his entire life.

When dawn had broken that morning, there had still been an edge of midnight chill lingering in the air. Now he was exposed beneath the worst of the southron sun, dressed in the wintery layers that represented wealth and prosperity among his own distant people. Here, it served no purpose but to slowly bake him alive and make him look even _more_ the displaced barbarian he was certain these people expected him to be. The stubborn dregs of his pride had made him pick this garb—he should really have known better than to trust such unearned emotion.

Only a few hours ago, Deir had believed himself due to be delivered to Castle Leistel, the heart of the Empire. Instead he had been asked to disembark the carriage that had carried him this far, told that they would be riding the rest of the journey, that they would be going _not_ to Lake Leistel but instead to the Emperor’s own private country home. The same building which Deir now stood before. It had been the first and only time during his long journey that he’d been permitted to travel on horseback; a challenging prospect, with his arm so long out of practice. He flexed it now, a habitual motion, as he gazed at the manse before him.

The stone was unlike anything Deir had ever seen at Lake Kerryman, sleek and yellow and brilliant beneath the afternoon sun. Two towers had been built into the corners of the building, topped with gleaming blue-tiled spires that gave the strange impression of a fortress made in miniature, transformed into something smaller, softer, more personable. Deir’s eyes swept over the front view, taking a quick count of the windows and wondering at the number of rooms inside. Far more than any one person should need, but a good deal less grandiose than what he might have expected.

His face itched. He hadn’t been able to shave during those weeks upon the road, and now he had the coarse black beard to prove it. Deir wondered if they would give him the chance to bathe and shave before presenting him to their Emperor.

It wasn’t for the sake of _their_ propriety that he concerned himself. He was a prisoner here, no matter how much courtesy they decided to bestow upon him; he had no intention of forgetting it. But for his _own_ dignity, such little as there was, he would have prefered not to go before the ruler of these lands looking like…

Well. Like a man from the mountains who had just been dragged south over seven long weeks, ill-equipped and underprepared. No, he _didn’t_ owe these people anything. Deir straightened his back, tucked his right arm carefully against his side, and steeled himself for whatever might come next. If they decided that he looked the barbarian, then so be it. They would only have themselves to blame.

The man who approached them was an older gentleman, dressed not in formal livery but instead the neat and comfortable breeches and waistcoat Deir might have associated with a housekeeper. Deir looked at the grey eyes, the dark brown hair, the warm southron skin, and wondered if the Emperor would look similar. “Prince Deir,” The gentleman began, “His Greatness Yet Undeclared, the Emperor Louiz, requests that you join him in the garden forthwith.” With a small nod, the man went on to address Deir’s escort. “His Greatness encourages you all to rest and refresh yourselves before your return to Lake Leistel. Please, make your way inside.”

As simple as that, then, he was to be thrust into the Emperor’s presence. Deir found his mouth had gone dry. Was this his first Imperial order? Was he being _commanded_ to make haste to the Emperor’s side? Or was he permitted to refuse this, to insist that he was too tired or too road-worn to face such a meeting? Part of him was tempted to press the issue and find out.

But then the gentleman walked away, clearly anticipating that Deir would follow, and a grim sense of curiosity got the better of him. Emperor Louiz was likely to have his way regardless. At least this way Deir would be able to walk into it on his own two feet.

They walked around the side of the manse, across soft yielding grass and alongside a large glass structure that Deir was surprised to recognise the purpose of. Glass houses for growing vegetables were practically a necessity in the frozen heights of Kerryman. He wouldn’t have guessed the same would be needed as far south as this. Deir eyed the glass walls as they passed, thinking to identify what might be growing inside, but then they rounded the corner and the rest of the gardens spilled out before him. Wide green spaces interrupted by small clusters of fruit-bearing trees, a much simple and wilder space than any castle garden would likely be.

And there, on the edge of a patio close to the manse, a blond-haired man rose to his feet.

Emperor Louiz, His Greatness, leapt upwards with such enthusiasm that Deir looked back over his own shoulder in anticipation of someone else. But no, it was only himself and the housekeeper who approached—was the Emperor this thrilled when meeting _all_ his newly-acquired hostages?

"Prince Deir, at last!" the Emperor called across the grass, motioning gleefully at the table set before himself. A quaint little country picnic all prepared for two. The sight intimidated Deir a great deal more than any formal introduction at court ever could have. "Rendolf, thank you, that will be all. Ahh, but see the escort well looked after before they leave, won't you?"

The man at Deir's elbow spread his hands to either side in some gesture of acceptance, and turned back toward the manse. Deir wished he might have been instructed to follow. Rendolf was as much a stranger as the man standing before him, but Deir felt quite bereft without even _one_ person standing at his side for this unexpectedly personable confrontation.

Emperor Louiz smiled at him expectantly. His skin was the same warm brown as others born near Lake Leistel, a stark contrast to Deir's own, and his hair was blond and thick and curled up above the nape of his neck. It bounced with each wide motion the Emperor made, and had that quality that made Deir assume it would look dreadful after a good night's rest. 

His earlobes were hung with ostentatious jewels, purple gemstones evoking bundles of plump round berries, but the rest of his appearance seemed plain and comfortable enough. A light shirt that matched his trousers, and a soft brown waistcoat overtop of it. The mid-afternoon heat did not seem to trouble him at all. "Sit," the Emperor instructed him, and, dazed, Deir did so. The Emperor settled opposite him.

"I know you've been on the road for months now. Months, was it?" _Weeks, really_ , Deir moved to reply, but the Emperor carried on talking as though he had never asked the question. "It must have been quite a boring ordeal. I hope the escort kept you good company. Now. Let's do these formalities first, shall we? I am His Greatness Yet Undeclared, the Emperor Louiz of Leistel. Do you know what it means that I'm Undeclared?"

Deir thought he did, but he didn't know what sort of answer this Emperor would be seeking. "I'd like to hear it in your words," He replied, aware he wasn't speaking courteously and too staggered by the strangeness of this situation to find the right language inside himself. Emperor Louiz smiled at him.

"I can do that for you. It means only that I have yet to find my title. The Empress before me reigned as Her Great Grace. It wasn't very fitting, in my often controversial opinion, but you really mustn't tell her I said so."

 _Tell_ her so? Deir had not even realised the previous Empress yet lived, never mind that he might ever be expected to speak with her. Unaware of his thoughts, the Emperor continued on.

"Titles are self-declared. I'm well within my rights not to have chosen mine yet, and still within historical precedent. If I intend to turn heads with my dithering I've still got some seven more years to go. Until then I'm His Greatness, or Greatness Yet Undeclared if you really want to pin me down with it." The Emperor's head almost seemed to tilt with the width of his lopsided smile. "So now that you know all that, I am happy for you to simply call me Louiz. Particularly here, in this place."

This place being the yellow-walled manse and its gardens? Deir nodded slowly, and tried to keep his eyes from turning down to the spread of food before him. Clearly he did a poor job—Emperor Louiz burst into fresh explanation.

"I knew you would surely be famished, and tired of road fare, so I arranged sweet teas for us. You'll not be denied the food of your homeland, of course, but I hoped you'd indulge me today. That pot closest to you has cream." Deir looked at the deep terracotta dish before him, and the thickly crusted _something_ within it. It did not look appetising. It certainly did not look like anything he would ever have referred to as cream. "Then we have preserves, of course, and the rock buns themselves."

The rock buns, as Emperor Louiz called them, did indeed resemble their name. Cooked to golden brown, they were baked jagged and uneven, similar in shape to an egg. Deir watched as the Emperor tore one in half, and began to slather it with entirely too much fruit preserve. "These ones have been baked through with dates, I find them sweeter that way. Go ahead, Prince Deir! They're quite delightful, I assure you."

Perhaps they would be. That didn't make Deir any more excited at the thought of breaking bread with the man now keeping him prisoner. Nonetheless he reached for a rock bun of his own, silently copying everything Emperor Louiz had done. The cream, it turned out, was thick and rich beneath that ugly yellow crust, and surprisingly delicious despite its first appearance. The rock bun itself was less appealing, but not wholly unpleasant. Deir ate in silence, surprised at how quickly he consumed the thing.

Emperor Louiz stayed quiet long enough to let Deir eat those few mouthfuls. Then he started up again, pointing at the two different jugs set on the table. "This one is pear cider. It's mild, mind. And _that_ is an iced ginger tea. Settles the stomach, they say. Not that you need feel unsettled, Prince Deir. I'll tell you now, clearly and openly—if there is anything I can do to make this more comfortable for you, you only need to say so. I'll do anything I can for you, but you must first ask it of me."

Deir poured himself a cup of cider, and bit his tongue. _Anything you want, you have to ask for_. Would his pride ever be broken enough for him to live that way? It might have been easier if they had just placed him in a locked cell. At least then he would keep some small measure of personal dignity. Instead they wanted him to beg for scraps, to be permitted or discarded at the whims of these new masters. Was he to be a prisoner here, or a pet?

He would ask for nothing, Deir resolved, as he took a cautious sip. The cider was overly sweet, just like everything else set before him; Deir resisted the urge to empty his cup on the grass.

"So you have travelled through my Empire," Louiz began anew, pouring his own drink as he spoke. "What did you make of it? Was it very different to the lands around Lake Kerryman? I've never had the fortune to visit your mountains."

"The _fortune_?" Deir replied, his tone brittle. If Louiz was concerned, he didn't show it.

"Fortune indeed, Prince Deir! I would especially love to see the molten waters. Is it true they hold their heat all year round? I imagine I would never want to leave such comfort."

Deir could not hold back his irritation this time. "Some of us weren't granted a choice, Your Greatness."

"Ah. I suppose not." At last, Emperor Louiz looked contrite. Deir wondered if that hesitant downturn was the least bit sincere. Probably not, judging from how quickly the Emperor spoke again. “That being as it may, what did you see as you travelled here? I'd love to hear you speak of it."

It wasn't a prospect that filled Deir with much excitement. But did he have a choice? He could ask to be dismissed, claim exhaustion or a desire to see to his belongings. But that would mean seeking _permission_ , something he had already resolved to avoid. Curtly, he replied, "The lands of the Empire are vast. We travelled for many weeks."

"Do tell."

It seemed he _wasn't_ going to be given any choice. Resigned, Deir finally began to recount the journey, mindful of the comfortable manner in which Emperor Louiz languished in his chair and continued to feed himself rock buns slathered in heaps of cream and preserve. The whole effect made Deir feel like some performing animal.

The journey from Lake Kerryman had taken almost seven weeks. The first of those days had been completed on foot, a perilous trek down from the steepest reaches of Kerryman's heights. Deir described the mountains at Louiz's behest, the sharp white peaks that seemed to rise endlessly into the fogs above and the icy rivers that cut between tall arrowheaded pine trees. Deir did _not_ describe the way his escort had tried to befriend him, and how he had stubbornly resisted their efforts to engage him until finally they settled on treating him with a kind of cordial distance that Deir had soon come to regret.

On the third day they reached Lower Kerrystone, where the carriage had been left, and Deir spent the rest of his long journey riding within the limited comfort it provided. The prospect of weeks on horseback had intimidated him. Instead, denied the chance to ride alongside his escort, Deir had had little choice but to watch the world trundle by his window and try not to consider his future.

Lake Kerryman had disappeared behind them, the ragged crags of familiar scenery giving way to a world he did not know. Everything became lonely and stretched and barren. Deir described it as simply as he could, the rock-strewn fields of green and brown untended and wild in all directions. "It was bleak," He said, "But beautiful. I looked forward to seeing more."

Emperor Louiz hummed in approval at that. It made Deir want to kick himself.

But no matter how he wished not to be a dog for this man's entertainment, weeks of silence had left him more eager to speak than he'd realised. The longer his telling continued, the more he found himself dipping into greater details of the things he'd seen. The trees of his homeland were tall and dark and eternal, thick with needles that held their shape and colour through every season that passed. The further south they travelled the rarer those sights had become, until finally the world was filled not with evergreen but instead wide-branched oaks in every shade nature could imagine.

He didn’t talk about the night they had camped beneath those unfamiliar oaks, and Deir had found himself desperately yearning for the scent of pine in a way that left him sick with misery. He didn’t talk about the moment where Kerryman’s impossible heights had finally melded away into the distant horizon. He did not describe the homesickness it had uncovered within him, a void he had never imagined could open in one as unwelcome to Kerryman as he had become. Even now it stuck in his gullet, a persistent discomfort he could not swallow.

"We reached our first river," He continued instead, and described the wide placid flow and how the road had grown straighter and smoother alongside it. "In Kerryman the rivers _are_ the roads," He mentioned blithely, and intended to continue on, but Louiz interrupted him with open curiosity.

"How so?" He asked, elbows propped on the table before him. Deir found himself envying that easy confidence.

Still, the question wasn't too complicated. "Our rivers freeze in winter," Deir explained. "The ice is thick enough that we can ride upon it with sleds, or shins of bone bound to our boots. They make natural pathways through our wilderness, so long as you know what you're doing. Winter was the time for trade, and for our communities to come together. People from all around the Grand Lake would visit at Castle Kerryman."

People who did not know the truth. People unaware of the awful things he had done. Winter filled Kerryman with strangers willing to offer him a smile; Winter was Deir’s favourite time of year, and he hated himself for stealing such comfort from it.

He couldn't take any more questions about that. Deir hurried on before Louiz might press further, talking about the boats he had seen sailing upon that foreign river. He talked about the greetings his escort had called out to the river folk, even recalled a few of the more colourful conversations, and did not mention that he himself had never taken part except to lean against his carriage door and listen through the window as they rode.

"Then we reached Lake Graseael." It was the first time Deir had seen a Grand Lake that _wasn't_ Lake Kerryman, and although it did not billow steam the way Kerryman did, it was just as vast and just as depthless to the eye. When rain had come upon them that day Deir had been able to watch it crossing the surface of the lake in thick wet sheets, until finally it had reached them and he'd been forced to duck his head back inside the carriage and count himself blessed not to be ahorse. It had been a relief when they sought refuge in a small homestead. The thought of camping beneath that downpour had filled him with dread.

The mention of staying among others caught Louiz's attention. "How were the people?" He asked, and then, "Did they treat you kindly? Did they seem in good health?"

For the first time, Deir wondered if Louiz might be asking after his observations for something _other_ than mid-afternoon entertainment. "They were fine," He replied, knowing the vagueness of his answer was a cheap victory to score over this man who had seized control of his home. Even so, Deir savoured it for what it was.

In truth he had been suspicious of the homestead and its inhabitants, not through any fault of their own but because they were part of the Empire. Lake Graseael had ceded to the Empire's control before even his Great-Grandsire's reign, more than a hundred years ago. 

More than one hundred years without the Empire seeking conquest—now finally changed with the seizure of Lake Kerryman. Deir did not need to wonder what had happened to finally allow the Empire success. He knew the curse that hung over Kerryman. He tasted it on his lips with every nightmare that returned to him.

Something else Louiz did not need to know about.

"There wasn't much change after that," He continued instead. "Eventually we found the sea, and followed the coast from afar." If he turned his head he could still see it now; the faint blue glimmer that cut across the horizon. This was as close as he had ever been to the ocean, and perhaps Louiz could tell—the Emperor's eyes had lit up at Deir's mention of it. Unwilling to be patronised, Deir kept his tone disinterested. "Looks just like any other Grand Lake to me."

"Any other lake!" Louiz repeated, delighted and incredulous. "Well! We must take you there, Prince Deir, so you can see the truth for yourself." 

So the Emperor had found a way to be patronising after all. Deir made himself shrug, refusing to be drawn along by Louiz's words. "If that's what you want." Who was _he_ to deny an Emperor, after all. A lowly hostage, nothing more. Not wanting to hear whatever else Louiz might add, Deir pushed on. "The fields filled with wheat and flax the closer we came to Lake Leistel. I've never seen so much purple. Or been so hot."

Two observations that made Emperor Louiz laugh. "It's quite the sight, isn't it? But don't worry about the heat, Prince Deir. I've no doubt at all that you'll get used to it. Especially when we get you some more suitable garb, and shave that beard of yours."

He _was_ overdressed for the south, that had already become apparent to him. It did not make the thought of dressing as _Louiz_ would want him any more appealing. Nor did he enjoy the prospect of shortening his sleeves, and inviting the curious stares that would inevitably follow. 

As for the beard... Deir lifted his left hand self-consciously to the coarse hair that had grown to cover his jaw these last two months, and then flinched in belated resentment as he realised what he was doing. The Empire was to decide even _this_ part of his appearance for him? Deir dropped his hand back to the table with a dull thump. "Don't bother," He said, knowing once again he was failing to speak with half the courtesy he was supposed to and finding it very difficult to care. "And don't keep calling me 'prince'. Kerryman doesn't expect me back." 

_Kerryman doesn't_ **_want_ ** _me._

Emperor Louiz took another generous bite of his rock bun before he responded. "I would prefer we not demean you any further, Prince. If you don't like your birthright as a title, is there something else you'd prefer? I could name you an ambassador or diplomat if you like. Though there is something altogether clumsy about Deir the Diplomat, isn't there. Perhaps ambassador _would_ be the better word. Ambassa- _Deir_?"

Louiz laughed at his own humour. Deir somehow kept his frustration in check, though his response came clipped by the tension of it. "Deir is fine. I don't care if it demeans you. It's my name."

The implication startled Louiz out of his private merriment. "Oh, Deir, I never meant to imply that. It was clumsy of me if I did." His blond hair caught the sun as he shook his head, paler as the light gleamed across it. "I was thinking only of how others would perceive you. My wonderful subjects can be quite proud about this sort of thing. I will call you Deir, if you'd like me to, but you should expect others to keep calling you 'prince'. My advice is to let them. You'll spend the rest of your life issuing corrections, otherwise." 

It sounded as though Louiz might be speaking from experience. Deir hated even the thought of it. The little games he knew people played in foreign courts, the tricks they wove with their words, the ways they sought to undermine one another with a jape and a smile—none of that had ever been a strength to him. "If your people can't learn something as simple as my name then they're not very smart people, Your Greatness"

Louiz's laughter was youthful, and startled enough in its sound that Deir thought it actually genuine. "Well _you're_ honest, aren't you? Or at least you're not sugaring your words."

"There's enough of that already," Deir replied, gesturing at the table spread before him, and the Emperor laughed again. He hadn't really _meant_ to make a joke, the response had just come from him naturally, but hearing someone respond to him with humour—even someone as unwelcome as the Empire's very own Greatness Yet Undeclared—stirred an emotion in him that was at once uncertain and yet annoyingly validated. 

Frustrated, he continued. "I'm a hostage, not an ambassador. If you wanted someone from Kerryman to come here and praise you and your Empire you should have said so. Anyone would have been a better choice than me."

"And yet they sent you. I had almost wondered if your father might send one of his twins. It seemed like a convenient resolution to any issues of ascension."

 _Issues of ascension_ ? Did these people of the Empire imagine his two eldest siblings, born within minutes of one another, were somehow at odds as to who would sit the throne after their Sire passed? Deir just about managed to hold back his snort of amusement, even as the more bitter afterthought came upon him. "If you knew anything about Lake Kerryman, Emperor Louiz, you would know that I was _always_ the only choice."

Emperor Louiz, blond of hair and freckled across his summer-brown skin, smiled in a manner that did not seem to warm his face. "I was hoping, Deir," he said, "That you would be able to educate me on that."

But the bitterness had settled in Deir now, and did not want to be dislodged so easily. He had taken as much of this as he could stand. Deir stood sharply, and drew some small measure of satisfaction from the startlement on the Emperor's face. "I don't think so," He said, short and direct. "I have travelled too long, Your Greatness, and would sooner go and start my imprisonment. If you'll excuse me.

Deir did not wait for a response. Something like fear had leapt up from inside his chest, clogging his throat and asking him what he _dared_ think he was doing, but he did not answer to that emotion and he did not let himself hesitate. Deir turned his back on His Greatness Emperor Louiz and walked away. Part of him expected to hear some roar of command follow after him, or a cry for Deir to be seized and escorted to his cell. Instead there was only silence. 

And why not? Where was he going to go? There was nowhere but the manse, and the roll of verdant green. Escape was an idiot’s illusion, as unreachable as the stars, and never intended for him. He would not dishonour his home by trying. He would not bring any more shame to the shores of Lake Kerryman.

When Louiz finally called after him, Deir had almost reached the house. "Hold on, Deir. Hold on, now!"

It seemed pointless to press any further. Deir paused, prepared for whatever punishment he might be about to experience, and waited for Emperor Louiz to reappear at his elbow. Surprisingly, the Emperor's expression seemed to have softened. "Of course you need to rest. I should not have tried to force so much at once. Let me show you the room we've prepared."

No sense trying to argue. Deir nodded, a perfect picture of unwitting Imperial obedience, and let Louiz lead the way.

  
  


Deir was surprised to find that he slept well that night, for all that the environment was foreign around him. It was strange to sleep upon such a broad mat, and the absence of blankets to weave around himself left him feeling oddly exposed despite knowing how vile it would have been to add so much warm weight to this sun-soaked clime. When a knock came at the door that next morning, he took the time to wrap the thin silken sheet around himself before calling permission for the visitor to enter.

After the overeagerness of yesterday, Deir found himself expecting to see Louiz standing at his door. Instead it was a girl who opened the door carefully with one elbow, the inelegance of her method made nonetheless impressive by the stacked tray she was managing to balance. There was a slim table lined up to one side of the bed, and she placed the breakfast down upon it before moving to the foot of the bed to face him directly. Deir sat back, pillows propped behind him, and tried to pretend as though being waited on in such a manner wasn’t terrifyingly uncomfortable for him.

"Please enjoy your breakfast, Sir Prince," The girl announced precisely, palms arranged in a composed horizontal position before her chest. A formal stance, and one he wasn't familiar with. Deir hoped he wasn't supposed to respond with any gesture of his own and fortunately it didn’t seem so—the girl continued after a short pause. "His Greatness Emperor Louiz wishes to pass along his regrets. He has returned to Lake Leistel, and apologises that he could not speak to you directly before his departure."

Now that _was_ news. Nothing about the relaxed cake-shoveller of yesterday had suggested any reason to expect a sudden overnight departure. Deir found himself frowning. "Is everything all right?"

The question he was surely expected to ask, but one he found himself genuinely curious of. The girl's expression didn't so much as waver.

"All is ever well within His Greatness's Empire, Prince Deir." A non-answer if he'd ever heard one. "His Greatness allows you freedom to explore the manse at your leisure, as well as the grounds beyond. If you wish for anything, we shall attend you. It is his intention to return once matters elsewhere are settled."

At this point he probably _was_ supposed to say something. Deir considered whether or not he owed servants of the Empire his politeness, and decided to err toward caution. He did not know this girl, clearly many years younger than himself. He did not know what twists of fate had drawn her into this life. "Thank you," He said, trying not to sound awkward about it. "If I want anything, I'll look for you."

"It will be my pleasure to serve," She responded, and parted her pressed palms outwards in something akin to a curtsey of farewell. Deir waited until the door had closed behind her before sighing back deeper into the comfort of bed and pulling the tray across to his lap. 

The breakfast looked to have all the staples he would have expected to see back home in Kerryman, but each of them somehow sweetened for the trouble. Two pieces of grainy bread sat on the edge of a shallow dish of what looked to be wine, clearly intended for dipping. Beside that lay several flats of fried dough, with berry compotes and a crystallising golden honey waiting to be spread upon them. The last of it was an aromatic slice of thin crisped pork, cooked and then wrapped around what appeared to be a wedge of cheese topped with thinly cut apple.

Deir had to wonder if everyone in Leistel ate with such sweet appetites, or if he'd simply been served the breakfast originally intended for Louiz. It certainly had the look of something the Emperor would enjoy, judging from what he'd served yesterday. It _didn't_ look like something Deir would want to grow accustomed to, but as an unusual novelty he couldn't deny the appeal of it. By the time he'd finished his third piece of doughfry he was feeling both wonderfully satisfied and decadently ashamed of it all.

The wine was dark red, set in a patterned terracotta bowl. It had no right to remind him of anything, and yet it did. Deir ate his bread with the meat and cheese, and poured the wine into the water basin that had been left on the opposite side of his bed, still used from the night before. He imagined it would be refreshed during the day, and dropped the terracotta dish inside it as well for good measure. Let them wonder at his strange behaviour. The thought of their confusion was a small piece of amusement to be enjoyed.

His belongings, limited though they were, had arrived sometime during the previous afternoon. Deir climbed from the bed after he'd set the tray aside, crossing his room to kneel before the trunk that had been placed against the opposite wall. The dark wood and heavy metalwork stood out starkly against the pale furniture that surrounded him here. He was not sure if such a reminder of home was welcome or galling.

But perhaps he should not think of it as home any more. In many ways, it had not been a home to him since he was a teenager. Lake Kerryman would always be the land of his birth, but he had made himself a stranger the day he’d betrayed their trust. He did not belong in Kerryman. He did not, truly, belong anywhere. Resolved—or perhaps just resigned—Deir eased the latches open and lifted the lid.

His clothing was made for colder days and longer nights. He'd known that even as he packed, but what other option did he have? He would have to obtain new things now that he had arrived. Soon enough he'd blend right in, as though he'd always been another subject of the Empire and not some shiny new acquisition to be prodded and pondered. Lip curled, Deir shoved his clothing aside and reached beneath.

There wasn't much else to be found. He hadn't bothered packing any books, save for a basic thumbworn copy of _A Genealogy of Lake Kerryman and the Ruling Families,_ mostly at his sister's behest. Did she imagine he would memorise the history and spread some good word of Kerryman throughout the heart of the Empire? Perhaps they really _did_ mean for him to be some sort of diplomat. As it was the book had gone ignored throughout his travels, save one or two evenings of desperate boredom where he'd found himself flicking through the pages in hope of finding something interesting. 

This particular manuscript had been scribed before his birth. It described the marriage of his parents as a recent event to be celebrated, with no mention of children beyond hopes for the future. His Grandsire had already been King for over twenty years by then, and was yet hale and hearty—or so the scribe had written. Deir could not remember a time when his Grandsire had not looked _old_ to him, but he himself had been young and quick to judge. The decline in His Majesty's health had been visible in those final years; before then, he had been a bold and active ruler.

Deir did not want to think about that. He put the book to one side and continued his search, and all too soon it became apparent that his razor was missing. Deir searched again despite the heavy feeling in his gut, his mind already trying to figure out when it might have been removed from his belongings. Sometime on the road, or since he had arrived here? It didn't matter. It had been decided that he was not to be trusted with a shaving blade. Someone had mistrusted him enough to invade his privacy.

Jaw set, Deir told himself it didn't matter. He was a prisoner here. He knew that. Personal liberties were something he had to _ask_ for now. Ignoring the way his road-grown beard seemed once again to itch upon his cheek, Deir returned to his belongings and pulled out the single keepsake he truly would have missed.

His dice had each been hand-carved, one set of five made from the dark green trunk of an Everaught Pine, the other dug from the pale burnished hearts of Prickled Gammyberry bushes. They were not the first dice he had ever made. Those first attempts had long since been thrown away, embarrassing efforts with uneven surfaces or awkward weights that left them forever landing on the same few patterned numbers. But these dice had been with him for years now, his own personal set made by his own self-taught method. He could be a little proud of that, when he allowed himself to be.

Then he would consider _why_ he had had such free time to be teaching himself basic crafts, why he was self-taught when he _should_ have been welcome to study under any one of Kerryman's numerous masters, and the pride would dim again.

It didn't matter now. Deir tossed his dice bag onto the bed with a casual underarm throw, then rose to his feet and placed his right palm flat against the nearest wall. Morning stretches, to keep the taut flesh of his scarred arm limber. Then he would dress, long sleeves drawn down to conceal the old injury, and begin to explore. It was likely what Louiz expected of him, and that was frustrating, but the thought of staying cooped up in this one room was enough to make him play along. Better to be predictable than driven mad by the sheer tedium of subversion.

  
  


Dressing for the weather while maintaining his own personal sense of dignity proved to be a challenge. In the end Deir settled for a single layer of woolen hose, and the kind of linen undershirt that would usually be worn beneath the rest of an outfit during the warmer summer months. In Lake Kerryman it was a style of dress akin to leaving the house in undergarments. Here, with the summer heat already beginning to spill in across his room, Deir imagined he had little other choice.

Even so he hesitated at the door before giving in to discomfort and grabbing a slitted coat, the sort that allowed for arms to be threaded directly through the sleeves or else exposed through unbuttoned slits beneath each underarm. Fastened at his breastbone and nowhere else, it would function as a sort of makeshift cloak. More importantly, it would leave him feeling less exposed.

Less exposed, but all the more an ill-equipped barbarian. Deir pocketed his dice pouch and stepped into the hall.

In its own ostentatious way, the manse wasn't even that large. Certainly it didn't compare to the sprawling scope of Kerryman Castle, where Deir had grown and roamed and gone ignored for the better part of his life.

This place was much more contained, with perhaps no more than two dozen rooms in all. The largest of these was, unsurprisingly, a drawing room that appeared to have been expanded outward from its initial design. The architect had done an excellent job of blending the interior into one ceaseless space, but it was plainly apparent that it had been enlarged beyond the original scope. Emperor Louiz's work? Maybe. He did seem the sort to host parties.

Elsewhere he found several guest quarters that seemed very like his own, though they didn't appear to be in regular use. Deir imagined moving his belongings into one of these other spaces simply for the act of having something to _do_ , and put the thought away for later. He'd be bored soon enough, he did not doubt. That could be a distraction for his future self to enjoy.

Surprisingly, there didn't appear to be any quarters set aside for servants. Stranger still, there didn't seem to _be_ many servants. The girl who had brought him breakfast passed him several times, ferrying linen or buckets or armfuls of dry purple flowers, and when he found his way to the kitchen a woman was there rubbing what smelled like rosemary and garlic into the shallow cuts that scored a haunch of something undoubtedly intended for supper. "You must be our new arrival," She greeted him cheerfully enough, and then seemed to remember herself as her entire demeanour stiffened. "May I help you, Prince Deir?"

"I'm fine, thank you," He reassured her as quickly as he could, and although he might have liked to poke around the kitchen a little more or ask her exactly what she was up to and if she always worked alone, he made himself scarce so she wouldn't have to continue putting on appearances for his sake.

Throughout the entire manse he only found two doors that were locked, side by side at the far end of an upper floor hallway. Deir supposed that should make him curious, but in truth it had been easy enough to turn around and keep exploring elsewhere. If these were the Emperor's private quarters—and Deir found little reason to think otherwise—then he had no interest in seeing them. He was not here to play the role of a sneaking spy, or the precocious orphan of a childhood fable. A locked door was a locked door. Perhaps one day he would be unfortunate enough to see the other side.

The two tower-like corners of the house each held their own unique interest. One was overflowing with what Deir first took to be stored artworks, but soon realised, with a spike of amusement, was actually rows upon rows of _clothing_ . He had walked among it, his humour at Louiz's vanity soon changing to an even greater bemusement when he realised just how many of the beautiful fabrics had been used to make _gowns_ . Presumably, then, these items did _not_ belong to the Emperor himself. Not unless His Greatness had quite an unusual secret. Deir held one such gown before himself, a high-necked thing all cast in romantic auburn shades, and tried to envision the cheery man from yesterday all adorned and ready to dance his way across that ballroom from before.

Annoyingly, Deir thought Louiz might be able to pull it off. Might even do it very _well_. Deir placed the gown back and walked away before any more deeply unsettling thoughts tried to plant themselves in unwelcome places.

The room above the clothes gallery was filled in much the same way, although there _was_ an absurdly oversized bed pushed up against the wall, larger than any other Deir had seen in his exploration of the manse. Given how lavish Louiz had been with his food, maybe the monstrous behemoth of a bed wasn't really that surprising. Deir pressed it with one hand, feeling the firm press of the bed mat and the feathery puff of the stuffed sheets that topped it, and went on his way.

The _other_ tower could not have been more opposite. It held a study filled with cases and cases of books, the entire tower space crafted into one single circular room that split over the two levels of the manse. A winding stair crept around the walls, while a pair of thick wooden tables topped by unlit lanterns filled the floor space with their vast presence. The chairs were wide and leathery and worn, the very epitome of ease and comfort. Deir lingered there for as long as he could stand, but he had never had a good head for words. The thought that his siblings would have been thrilled with something like this sat ill in his throat, as unwelcome as it was inevitable.

Would he be like this until the end of his days, ever remembering places and people he would never see again? If he ever _stopped_ remembering, would that be a good thing? Or just the final proof that he had become _Imperial_ , stolen and transformed by the foreign culture that had come to steal from the lands that bore him?

There was no satisfactory answer to be found. Unsettled, Deir finally made his way outside.

Astonishingly, the manse was open to attack on all sides. No walls protected the Emperor's beloved private lodgings, and the few men-at-arms he witnessed seemed closer to groundskeepers than they did any sort of armed force. Was the Empire truly so secure, here in the heart of its own expanding territory? One thing was clear enough, at least. No one considered Deir _himself_ to be a threat, not to the Emperor or anyone else within this household. The fact that they were right to dismiss him from their concern did nothing to make Deir feel any better.

What would happen if he asked them to saddle him a horse? Would they let him ride out for the closest horizon and never return? More likely they would have someone accompany him, or just refuse outright. But what if he had thought to request it from Louiz directly? He'd already decided he wasn't going to ask that man for help, and he certainly wasn't going to make the mistake of trusting him so easily. But Louiz _had_ seemed an agreeable sort, and eager to make Deir feel comfortable here. The Emperor didn't owe him any generosity— _that_ whole charade had been a choice all Louiz's own.

As had his choice to abruptly disappear at the first given opportunity, leaving Deir to fend for himself without so much as providing introductions. Whether by design or sheer incompetence, Emperor Louiz had laid out his welcome for everyone to see and then yanked it away the moment Deir had set foot upon it. _No_ , Deir reminded himself. He _shouldn't_ let himself expect any help from that corner.

The eastern wall of the manse revealed a small copse of tall bright conifer trees. Deir's heart lifted at the sight of them, and he wandered amongst their trunks in celebration of this one tiny illusion of someplace mountainous and frostbitten and _known_ . But the trees were few enough that he could turn in no direction and not see the rolling green fields that lay beyond them. He walked on, moving behind the house proper and gazing off toward the more southernly horizon and the thin gleam of water that lay there. The ocean must have been less than an hour's ride from where he stood, a vast blue blanket that melded into the sky at some inseparable point. It _was_ true what he had said before, talking to the Emperor. He had never seen the ocean before travelling away from Lake Kerryman. Despite yesterday’s stubbornness, a part of him very much wanted to visit that new shore.

Salted water, and all the salted creatures that accompanied it. That _had_ to be worth exploring.

He had turned back toward the manse, thinking to count the windows and try to determine which one belonged to the room that had been set aside as his own, when a voice called out from behind. "Louiz! Louiz, do get over here now!"

Deir turned, startled, to discover that he was not as alone out here as he'd thought. Sheltered in the gentle shade of what appeared to be a solitary pear tree, an ancient looking woman sitting upon a wicker-woven chair was glowering at him. As she saw his face her expression tilted toward one of confusion, and she raised one hand to motion him closer. Perplexed, and a little bit thrilled for even one small promise of company, Deir complied.

"You're not Louiz at all, mind. Who are you, then?" She gave him no time to answer, though, the confident whipcrack of her voice completely belying her frail appearance. "Oh, but I suppose you must be the Kerryman son. Now, tell me where Louiz is this morning. He has not come to see me yet. Do I look likely to be able to wait forever?"

Deir knew better than to answer _that_ question, though he only barely managed to contain his accompanying snort of laughter. "I'm sorry. The Emperor left on business."

"Left!" The old woman looked as though she wanted to spit. "He's left and not told me. Oh, I'll be having to talk to him about that, won't I. Leaving an old woman to wait on him without so much as a word of apology."

Deir found himself reaching a similar conclusion. Emperor Louiz had found enough time to leave a message for _him_ , but he'd failed to say anything to this poor woman? Instead she'd been left waiting for his company, little knowing that he would never arrive? The idea of it lit something raw and aggravated in his gut. Memories of his Grandsire, the way he'd been in those last few weeks, sifted up through his ribs like embers. Deir swallowed them down before they could try to consume him.

"I won't apologise for the Emperor’s mistakes, but _I_ can keep you company if you like," He said instead, and very almost sat down in the grass before realising he should see if she even wanted him around before making himself comfortable. The woman looked him over, before gesturing for him to settle down. Deir complied, legs crossed beneath him on the dry summer grass.

"Very well then. You _are_ the Kerryman son though, aren't you?"

"I am. My name is Deir."

"Just Deir, is it?"

Deir smiled at her. "For you? Most definitely."

The old woman cackled, her fingers tapping out her amusement on the arms of the wicker chair. "Oh, how he flirts! Louiz could learn some things from you, young man. Tell me I look not a day over thirty and perhaps I'll give you a kiss."

This time his laughter escaped him. Fortunately she didn’t seem the type to take offense. "I'll not lie to you, kind woman. But not a day over seventy-five, perhaps? And you are quite comfortably the best person I have met within these borders. I'll accept your kisses."

It was a joke, of course, and one that had her smirking at him through a set of surprisingly healthy looking teeth. But now that he'd said it, the thought stirred something cold and lonely inside him. No, he had no thoughts toward anything sensual with this old woman, despite the nature of their banter. But when had he last been kissed with anything close to affection? The thought of such an action, even meant as something kindly and chaste, left him suddenly feeling wretchedly bereft.

His royal father, Sire of Lake Kerryman, had clasped his hand before bidding him depart the castle one final time. His mother and siblings had watched in silence. Deir had not wanted or _expected_ anything different. Yet now he burned at the memory of it, the coolness with which he'd been sent on his way.

A kiss from the withered lips of a stranger—a greater token of affection than he had received in all the years since his Grandsire's death. Perhaps still more than he deserved.

The old woman did not move from her chair, nor did she motion him any closer. "Deir. What a fine young man you are. Not a very political creature, are you?"

 _Creature_ ? It seemed a good enough word for it. Anyone who would try to involve themselves in the running of land and state needed to have some bit of _creature_ in them—particularly in the case of this sprawling Empire. "I don't think so, ma'am. It would never have served anyone well if I had been."

"We'll see about that," She replied, a wry crack to her tone. "Now, none of that _ma'am_ , please. Call me Grandmother. The rest of them around here all do. Louiz as well, when he bothers to show up."

It would have been easy enough to accept, had he not so recently been recalling Grandsire. Deir knew he should simply agree with her, but instead he lifted his chin and asked, "Can I call you something else instead? Your name, perhaps."

The old woman barked her laughter in one short snap of sound. "Flirting still! Call me whatever you want, boy."

The alternative came to him naturally enough. He did not know much of this Empire, but he knew their propensity for _one_ certain word, at least. " _Great_ mother, then."

For an instant her eyes narrowed on him, suddenly shrewd, as though she had determined him to be a creature of politics after all. But then she smiled, leaning back into the wicker of her chair to let the sun wash over her weathered face. "Greatmother, that's fine. Deir, tell me about yourself. Entertain a lonely old woman in the absence of her wretched greatson."

There was no _other_ way to spend the time. Deir loosened his position on the grass, one leg stretched out before the other and his right arm cradled comfortably in his lap, and began to speak.

Greatmother proved much easier to talk to than Louiz had been, and her frequent laughter did not leave Deir feeling on edge the way he had around the younger Emperor. Maybe it was simply that she seemed almost as much as prisoner as him, her quick wit trapped within an aging body. Maybe it was the simple spontaneity of their meeting out here, with no sense of ownership or command binding their time spent together. Whatever it might have been, she asked Deir questions about his life and home, and he found himself willing enough to answer.

Not that he told her everything. Even now, there were secrets not to be shared. But he talked about his family, his mother and father and four siblings. The twins, firstborn, a boy and a girl. Then had come his older sister, and then himself, and finally his younger brother. Torren and Maenes, who would someday inherit Castle Kerryman and all its holdings. Geile, who might have been the brightest of them all, who had insisted he bring the _Genealogy_ with him. Little Perrig, who wasn't so little any more.

"That's three of them set to take Lake Kerryman before me," Deir explained, though Greatmother had only brushed the topic lightly with her questions. "Never mind any children they have. It wasn't difficult to send me here."

Once again Deir felt the remembered taste of it on his lips; the unspoken shame that defined all that had happened since Grandsire's passing. _It wasn't difficult to finally be rid of me_ , he corrected himself in silence, and paid no mind to the way Greatmother was scrutinising his face.

He told her a lot of the things he'd already told Louiz, recounting the journey down from the mountains and the various things he'd seen throughout the lands held by the Empire. He told her about the carriage itself, and laughed when she recalled her own days spent travelling in such a fashion and—to hear her tell it—the various young stableboys she had astonished along the way. Quite _how_ she had astonished them was a question Deir knew better than to ask.

When the sun had reached its full height in the sky and the shadow of the pear tree had crept slowly away from where he had first sat, the woman from the kitchen came striding across the garden with a basket tucked under one arm. "Grandmother, luncheon for you," She announced cheerfully, then seemed to notice Deir. "Oh! There you are, Prince. We have prepared a meal for yourself as well, but had not known where to find you. Would you have me deliver it to your room, or might you prefer to take your meal elsewhere?"

"He'll eat out here with me, won't you, Deir," Greatmother replied, making it very clear that her question was not in fact a question at all. 

Deir indulged the not-quite-request with a tolerant smile, climbing to his feet and carefully rubbing feeling back into his stiff legs. "That would suit me fine. Do you mind?"

The woman, placing the first luncheon basket on the grass next to Greatmother's chair, spread her hands in a gesture much like Deir had seen from the young girl who brought him breakfast. "We're here to serve, Prince Deir. I'll have your lunch out here shortly, begging your leave."

Deir watched her go, then turned to Greatmother and offered out his hands. "Come, Greatmother, let me move your chair for you. You don't want too much of that sun on you."

"You're as bad as Louiz," She groused in response, but smiled another of her white-toothed smiles at him as she accepted his help in rising and watched as he shifted her chair back into the heart of the shade. Only after she had sat back down and allowed Deir to place the basket within her reach did she nod toward his scarred right arm and ask, "What happened there, then?"

The question sent a chill through him. Had he really made it so obvious? No, this wasn't the first time he had been asked about his arm, and nor would it be the last. But for a moment, at least, he had let down his guard. It had not even occurred to him that his stance might make the injury obvious.

Then his practiced answer returned to him, and with it a sense of propriety. Deir stood taller, and extended his right arm as fully as he was able. The motion was still stiff from misuse, and he could not straighten it as far as he should have been able to—he had not kept up his exercises during his time on the road, and one morning of getting back to his routine was not yet enough to undo those weeks of negligence. "I burned it as a teenager. My own mistake." A mistake too dear and too _secret_ for him to divulge. It was not his own honour he protected—such little of it that remained—but the honour of Lake Kerryman. "It's usually better than this, but I’m out of practice. Don't let it worry you, Greatmother."

"I shan't," She answered, brusque but not exactly unkind. "Does it give you pain?"

"Not really. It's just stiff. The elbow is fine, but I have scarring above and below. The skin gets tight, so I have trouble reaching. If I don't work at it, it could stiffen completely."

Greatmother nodded. Her expression was more satisfied than sympathetic, as though she were pleased simply to have had her question answered. "You might find this hot weather better for it. Helps the joints better than the cold does, anyway." Then she slapped one frail hand against the arm of her chair, and smacked her lips together. "Now then. Let's see what they've brought us for lunch, shall we?"

  
  


And that was how the next days passed him by. Deir continued to explore the manse and its grounds, for what little yet remained to be seen. The glass house contained fruits and vegetables rarely seen as far north as Kerryman, and some things he had never tried at all. The idea of tending the plants appealed to him more than he might have expected; privately, he hoped a day might come where he could forget allegiances long enough to simply enjoy doing so.

The servants did not have rooms within the manse because, it transpired, they had their very own house barely half a mile away. Deir stumbled upon it one evening, expertly sheltered behind a row of strange tall trees whose long drooping branches seemed to sweep the ground as he passed. Rendolf, the man who had first greeted him, lived there with his wife and daughter. Deir had met them all by now, serving him breakfast or working in the kitchen or busying around the house with one task or another, and although they persisted in calling him Prince Deir he had the sense that they might already be becoming accustomed to his presence. 

It was a peculiar sensation. He liked it, and didn't like that he did.

Most of his time was spent with Greatmother. Now that she had Deir to fill her time, Louiz's absence did not seem to trouble her much. It was a small sense of purpose, but nonetheless it helped Deir feel that he at least had some reason to bother leaving his room each morning. The old woman was ever full of conversation, happy to recount tales of her own life, to tell him tales of Emperor Louiz's exploits around the manse, or to press him for yet more stories from his own foreign upbringing. Deir couldn't remember the last person he'd spoken to so openly. There were times he even questioned it, wondered if this woman might be much too shrewd and sly for him, might be luring out more of him than he really wanted to give.

But he was lonely. Damn it, he _was_ lonely. He had been lonely for so, so long.

He was in the garden with Greatmother the day Emperor Louiz returned, not quite a week after his departure. Deir didn't see him coming until Greatmother's chin suddenly jerked up, attention caught—that was all the warning he got before that rich energetic voice came rolling across the grass. "'Lo, Deir! I might have guessed Grandmother would have found you!"

Startled, though perhaps not as startled as he might have been without Greatmother's company, Deir turned in the grass to watch Emperor Louiz approach. He looked every bit as blond and bouncing as the last time Dier had seen him, though he was dressed more richly now than he had been that first day. Though he looked to be dressed for travelling his attire was nonetheless formal and suited to his high station—the deep plum tunic he wore was bordered in glimmering silver, the belt at his waist inlaid with intricate patterns and clasped with a buckle that looked as expensive as anything Deir had ever owned. Once again he wore earrings, this time fashioned after bundles of delicate lilac flowers that hung from his earlobes like teardrops from nature itself.

He was handsome, the Emperor. He knew what suited him, and wore it well. Deir didn't like admitting it, but it was difficult not to feel a sense of inadequacy confronted by someone who seemed so at ease in their own skin.

"Welcome back, Your Greatness," Deir said stiffly. Beside him, Greatmother chuckled in that dry voice Deir had become so accustomed to.

"Back at last, are you? I hope you've at least brought me gifts."

Louiz did not seem the least bit perturbed by the reception he received from either of them. "Of course and always, Grandmother. But you'll not be too displeased if most of the presents are for Deir, will you? I've brought you clothing, Deir! I hope you'll like it well enough. And you still haven't removed the beard! How do you grow it so fast? I've never been much able to, myself."

It had never seemed _so fast_ to Deir, but it was true that he usually shaved multiple times each week. It had been over two months now, and once again he felt his face seeming to _itch_ self-consciousness at the reminder. He scowled. "Your people took my razor. If you mislike it so much, you had better take it up with them."

Greatmother nigh on guffawed, and Deir felt himself bolstered by her amusement. This was only the second time he had faced the Emperor, but somehow his time with _her_ had made it all seem much less daunting. After all the tales she had told of the energetic young man who gathered servants around him like friends, Louiz seemed much less intimidating. Or less of a stranger, at least.

But he was still an Emperor, and used to being obeyed. Louiz's eyebrows had shot up at Deir's response. "They _took_ your razor? Ridiculous. Come on, then. Let's go and deal with this."

It was apparent from his tone that he did not expect any kind of disagreement. The sensation of being _ordered_ put a chill right back into Deir, but nonetheless he climbed to his feet and turned to bid Greatmother farewell. The physicality of it came to him easy enough now that he had been taught, though he could not quite make the motions natural—Deir held his hands before himself, horizontal planes in front of his breastbone, then opened them outwards and made a light dip at the knees. If he could not completely straighten his right arm, it was at least much improved since he had begun his exercises again.

Greatmother nodded, something between approval and dismissal. "You have been good company, Deir. Don't let him steal _all_ your precious time, now."

"I shan't, Greatmother."

Louiz cleared his throat behind them. Greatmother ignored him. "Truly though, very good company indeed. I'm starting to understand why our Louiz chose you."

It took Deir a moment to understand that he did _not_ understand. "Excuse me?"

Now Louiz was beside him, one hand touching Deir's wrist with a familiarity Deir did not feel able to reciprocate. " _Grandmother_ ," The Emperor said, his tone sounding very much a warning to Deir's ear. Once again, Greatmother continued as though Louiz was not even present.

"I understand why he chose you, I said. Of all the Kerryman children you're the one he wanted most. Quite insisted on it. _I_ recommended one of your twin siblings. There would be more leverage in that. But an Emperor does as an Emperor sees fit, you know. I'm almost glad of it now, having met you."

"That's _enough_ ," Louiz cut in again, and this time Greatmother graced him with a toothy smirk. Colour had risen in the Emperor's cheek, anger or embarrassment or some mix of the two. He fixed Deir a stern look and motioned him to follow. "Let's go deal with this beard of yours," He said, and started toward the house.

Dazed, Deir trailed behind.

 _Chose_ him. Emperor Louiz _chose_ him. Why? Why would anyone _ever_ want him? He had nothing to give, no skills to share or advantage to offer. And... had Louiz not already told him otherwise? When they sat together on that first afternoon, Louiz had said himself that he expected Castle Kerryman to send one of the twins south. Had that been a lie? To what end? What purpose was he playing toward with this? He should ask, Deir _knew_ he should ask, but the questions clogged inside him like some thick knot of misunderstanding. _No one would choose me. No one._

The only one who had ever favoured him over his brothers or sisters had been his Grandsire. Deir had repaid that trust with the worst betrayal Kerryman had ever known. 

He could not live in that world again.

They passed a familiar face in the hall, the young servant and daughter of Rendolf who had been bringing Deir his breakfast each morning. Louiz's attention snapped to her. "Solise, hot water to my room, quick as you can. Subjourn any help you need."

"At once, Louiz!"

Deir watched over his shoulder as she hurried away. It seemed this was all happening at a distance, happening to someone else who belonged in this foreign land with these foreign people and their foreign expectations. Was it normal for a servant to address the Emperor so casually? No, not from what Greatmother had told him. But here, in this private home, Louiz insisted on it.

It wasn't until they reached the end of the upstairs hallway that Deir realised the _important_ part of what Louiz had ordered. This was the hall with the two locked doors; Deir watched Louiz open one of them now, and followed inside with the same sense of dazed half-presence that had stolen over him in the garden. Louiz left the door open behind him and crossed the room at pace, rolling his sleeves up past his elbows as he went.

Left untended for a moment, Deir found himself helpless to do much but look around. 

There was not much that surprised him. Had he already been imagining what this room might look like? Deir didn't think so. But when he saw the light wooden floor covered in lush pale carpets, the matched curtains that draped each window and stood at the head of his bed, the inlaid vanity mirror and desk, the pair of long low seats set with golden cushions—all of it seemed very _Louiz._ Understated in one manner, absurdly ostentatious in another.

The only thing that _did_ surprise him was the lack of colour. He had already begun to associate the Emperor with purple, he realised, but this room was bedecked only in ivory and gold. Louiz, standing within it, looked like a bright bruised plum afloat upon a bed of cream.

Deir watched as Louiz pulled one of the seats around to the centre of the room, then ducked into a small side room and re-emerged with a shallow copper wash-basin in his arms. "Get undressed," The Emperor told him, as if he had simply asked Deir to take off his shoes or unfasten his cloak. Deir stared at him, acutely aware of his pulse hammering beneath his ears. When Louiz looked up he seemed impatient, that sense of frustration still lingering on his smooth face, but when he saw the way Deir was looking at him he finally seemed moved to pity. "Oh. Oh, Deir. How _are_ you about nudity, back in Kerryman?"

 _Back in Kerryman_ had nothing to do with how Deir felt about taking off his clothes right here and now. He could feel the colour burning in his cheeks, and though he had the beard and the touch of the sun to disguise it, he was certain his embarrassment must still be very plain. "Why?" He stiffly managed to ask.

Louiz set the basin down next to the chair. "I had thought to bathe you, if we're to work a lather on that beard. It's considered one of the chief pleasures in life, you know, here around Lake Leistel. We have public bath houses where they channel fire smoke beneath the floors to keep the tile warm beneath your feet. Hot water is something we have to _maintain_ , here. It isn't gifted to us by nature the way you have it from Lake Kerryman." Deir did not know what to say. Louiz waited a moment, and then continued. "Let me give you a bath, Deir. I'll answer some questions for you as well. I feel I owe you some."

Yes, Louiz _did_ owe him answers. Was Deir supposed to pay for that with his dignity? His privacy? He had not meant to draw his right arm gingerly across his body, but at some point he’d done so—Deir changed the motion into a firm crossing of arms across his chest. His scowl was set; if he was lucky, the dark hair of his beard might almost help him look fierce. "When you said you would solve this, I thought you meant you'd get my razor back. I don't need _keeping_. I can wash myself. We're not barbarians."

"I’ve never suggested you are!" Louiz sounded exasperated at the very implication. When he sat down, he spread his knees wide apart and lay his palms atop them—a pose of vulnerable surrender, open and honest. "Deir, please, try and _hear_ me. I would like to do this for you. The waters will be softened with crushed lavender and scented oils. I've several you can choose from. I've a bar here made from milled soapwort, and another scented with pine. I like to use them both, the one and then the other. Wash and bathe at your leisure, and I will see to clearing that chin of yours. You will feel much better for it, I promise you that. Whatever aches still weigh on you from the road, this will ease them. Place some trust in me. And we'll talk."

 _Talk_ and _trust_ seemed like two equal strangers in Deir's thoughts, tempting and suspicious in equal measure. Yes, he had questions. Yes, he did not want to be alone here, and until he knew exactly where he stood with Emperor Louiz he was not sure he could even enjoy Greatmother's company again. The thought of stripping bare and letting someone else lay hands on him was terrifying in a way that reminded him of the old woman's teasing flirtations, and the desperate yearning ache it had opened inside him.

He knew he had to refuse. He would have, were it not for that sad space inside him, the place where frost and steam and endless peaks of white had once been. "Pine?" Deir asked.

Emperor Louiz's smile was soft. "Scented with needles taken from the barren moors below Kerryman," He said, and leaned down to pull a white roughshod cake of soap from the basin. He held it out for Deir to inspect; reluctantly, Deir took it. "Not quite the trees of your homeland, but as close as we could get without breaking the peace. Perhaps in another few years we'll have _true_ trade established with Kerryman. I'll make a gift of it to you, Deir, if you'd want it. The very first bar made from Kerryman Pine. Would you like that?"

Deir had sworn to himself he would ask for nothing. He would not let himself be patronised. But now, with the scent of _home_ clogging his senses, he could not keep himself from nodding meek agreement. "I would," He confessed, and clutched the bar of soap tight between his fingers.

Undressing in front of the Emperor was a step too far for his comfort. Solise brought water, assisted by two groundsmen she had managed to enlist to her aid. Afterwards the men brought up a large coppery tub, matched to the little washing basin Louiz had already prepared and deep enough for a man to sit in, and soon enough the bath was filled and ready for him. Deir had stood, arms still folded, and fixed Louiz a hard stare. "Stand over there, and don't turn around until I say you can."

Remarkably, Louiz did as he was bid—albeit with a bright-eyed snicker of amusement that made Deir almost walk out of the room while he still had the chance. Instead he stripped of his clothing, even down to his undergarments, and lowered himself into the water. A sheet had been laid along the bottom of the metal tub, presumably to keep the water from holding too much heat and burning his skin. Deir had only ever bathed in wooden tubs before. Even _without_ the rich scents of the oils hitting his nose, this already felt more opulent than he could have imagined.

"You can turn around now," He said, lowering himself deep into the water and wishing for bubbles to conceal himself with. But doubtless Louiz would sneer at him if he made a show of covering his privates with his hands; Deir forced himself to lean back against the walls of the tub, arms loose at his sides and his body exposed beneath the water. If the Emperor really wanted to steal a look then there wasn't much Deir could do about it at _this_ point. He had already committed himself to this awful idea.

Beneath the waters, his scarred arm was already beginning to ease away from the stiffness that had been plaguing him. Deir glanced down at himself—the mottled red skin pulled tight below his shoulder and tighter still at his wrist—and hoped bitterly that Louiz might regret filling his eyes with the sight. If he had wanted a _pretty_ prisoner to adorn his manse, he had chosen poorly.

But if Louiz looked, he managed not to be obvious about it. The back edge of the tub had a light curve to it—a dip where one could rest their head to relax in the water—and that was where Louiz pulled his chair, sitting himself just to the side of Deir's head and offering up a cake of soap. "I said I'd answer some questions, didn't I. Anywhere you'd like to start?"

Taking the pine soap in his hand, Deir began the slow and awkward process of rubbing himself down while an almost-stranger sat at his elbow. _Where_ **_would_ ** _he like to start_... "Is she really your Grandmother?" He asked, glancing at Louiz from the corner of his eye. If the question was a surprise, Louiz didn't show it. "She says you didn't even tell her you were leaving. She waited for you. You should respect her better than that."

If the question hadn't surprised him, that rebuke certainly did. Louiz huffed a soft puff of laughter. "Oh, she said that, did she? How careless of me." Deir scrubbed his body harder, trying not to let his disappointment show. Had _she_ lied to him as well? Had she been lying to him this entire week? Beside him, Louiz's voice turned a shade more gentle. "She's a handful, even now, but don't think too harshly of her. I asked her to be kind to you while I was gone. I really did not mean to abandon you quite so fast."

Deir did not think himself much for word games, but he _did_ hear the implication in that. He turned, conscious of how the water sloshed around him, to look Louiz in the eye. "But you _did_ mean to abandon me."

Louiz's smile was rueful, at least. "I shouldn't have said that. Abandon is too strong a word. But I meant to leave you here for some time, yes. I didn’t imagine being dragged straight to Castle Leistel would be much good for you. It wasn't good for _me_ , the first time."

"You weren't born in Leistel?" The revelation caught Deir off guard.

"Oh, I was born on Lake Leistel," Louiz responded. "But not at the Castle. Do you know much of Leistel's history, Deir?"

It pained Deir to have to shake his head. Louiz gave him a sympathetic pat on the back of his head, apparently unconcerned about overstepping any more personal boundaries. "Wet your hair, and I'll tell you about it."

The water was fragrant with lavender. When Deir submerged himself it felt almost like being back in Lake Kerryman, beneath the steaming hold of the lake itself. But here the water was oiled, which gave it a strange soupy feel upon his skin that was difficult to describe and yet not wholly unpleasant. Deir resurfaced, and raised his hands to sluice the wetness from his dark hair. It had gotten longer, he noticed. Perhaps he would need to cut it soon.

"Before I was named Emperor," Louiz began, and shifted his position slightly to sit more thoroughly behind Deir, "Her Great Grace the Empress Loissa ruled. If you couldn't guess, I was named after her. My sister was as well, in fact. We're not all that imaginative down here in Leistel, I'm afraid."

"You have the _same name_ as your sister?" Deir asked, incredulous. Louiz's response was tinged in amusement.

"The same origin, at least. Her name is Ellois. Perhaps you'll have the chance to meet her one day." Deir hoped his question hadn't been as ignorant as he now suspected it had probably seemed. Heedless, Louiz continued. "I was barely ten years old when they told me I would be the next Emperor. No one was prepared for it. I was raised far from the Imperial Court, and had no clear connection to Empress Loissa. Yes, my mother had served her for some time as one of her Ladies-in-Waiting, but then she had chosen to marry my father and settle down away from that life. There seemed no reason that I should be selected. They thought the Empress had lost her mind."

Deir did not know much of the Empire, but he _did_ at least understand their lack of a physical line of succession. "I thought the Emperor or Empress was supposed to adopt heirs and then pick their favourite."

"More or less," Louiz agreed. "But Her Great Grace has always enjoyed doing things her own way. I learned much later that Loissa once offered to adopt my mother and name _her_ successor. I do believe she wanted to prevent my mother and father marrying. When I was chosen as Emperor my mother was furious. She thought Loissa intended it as some kind of strange revenge. To tell you the truth, I think mother was probably right."

Unsure what to say, Deir settled back against the curve of the tub once more. A new floral fragrance was starting to fill the space behind him—whatever Louiz had, it seemed Deir was going to smell like an Imperial garden by the time this strange ordeal was through.

"Anyway, I was brought to Leistel to serve as Emperor. I was still a child, and it terrified me. I had no idea what to expect." Deir did not bother to mention that he knew the feeling. "Loissa stepped back from her role as Empress," Louiz continued, "But then she launched another surprise on the Imperial Court. She did not simply retire from public life. Instead she devoted herself to serving the young Emperor, guiding him and mentoring him in his new position. And she still does, when she isn't causing me trouble."

Deir wondered if he should have seen it sooner. "Greatmother is...?"

"I'm afraid so." Louiz sounded sympathetic. "Not my Grandmother in truth, but she may as well be. She's a difficult woman, Deir, and I haven't always liked her. But she's not getting younger. I hardly dare to think about what will happen when she's gone."

Was it the awful familiarity of those words that made Deir jump, or the sudden touch of fingers moving through his hair? Deir jerked away sharply, more startled than he cared to admit. Behind him Louiz held his hands up in a gesture of peace—his splayed fingers were thick with suds. "Just washing your hair," He said by way of explanation. "If you'd rather I didn't...?"

"I thought you were going to do the beard," Deir muttered, sullen from his embarrassment, but he settled cautiously back into place. Whatever this situation was, strange and over-personal and uncomfortable as it was, it didn't feel _dangerous_. Louiz's fingers slowly worked into his hair, digging deeper to massage careful rhythmic circles against him. It felt much, much nicer than it had any right to.

"I'm sorry for leaving so suddenly," Louiz told him, carefully curling his fingers lightly across Deir's scalp. "Thank you for keeping her company. It was good to know that she would have someone to talk to."

Louiz did not say much more after that. The motion of his fingers continued, and despite himself, Deir felt his body giving in to the easy feel of being taken care of. His skin had the fresh smell of pine clinging to it, mixed in with all the fragrant oils that had been poured into the water. A blend of rich scents, too muddled for him to pick anything out, except for winter, and forest, and _home_. Steam drifted up around him, the same as it used to when he stared from the shores of Lake Kerryman. Louiz's hands kept moving, gentle and steady and tender.

When he felt one hand tilting his chin higher, Deir closed his eyes and did as he was bid. The thick shaving lather spread across his cheeks, over his chin and along the soft underside above his neck— _it_ smelled of pine as well. Everything did. When the razor began to scrape long careful streaks across his skin he realised he needed to stay still, now—and he realised, quite suddenly, that he _wasn’t_. Despite the seeping heat of the water, he was shaking.

"Deir...?"

Deir opened his eyes, and felt the pinching discomfort of tears that accompanied it. Louiz had shifted from his chair to kneel alongside the copper bathtub, the edge of the razor gleaming in his hand. His expression was abject, wide-eyed and frightened. "Deir, did I hurt you?"

 _Not you_ , Deir thought, but when he tried to answer his voice cracked on the confused sound of his own overwhelmed emotions. He felt himself hunching in tighter, suddenly and acutely aware that none of this should have been happening to him. This treatment wasn’t _for_ him. It was for someone better, someone who could handle being touched with kindness without falling in on themselves. _I'm sorry_ , he tried to say, but the words wouldn't come. Instead, voice made harsh by the choke of his confusion, he finally managed, "I'm fine. I'm fine, Louiz."

Emperor Louiz touched his face, wiping at the fresh fall of tears that came when Deir blinked. Deir tried to turn away, humiliated and furious with himself for it, but Louiz's brought firmness with that gentle touch. "Do you want me to stop?" He asked, and in that moment, Deir believed that Louiz would do so.

And he realised, despite everything, that he didn’t want this to end just yet.

"No," Deir told him, and though he knew he was shaking, and knew it was no easy thing to ask, he leaned back against the edge of the tub and closed his eyes again. He kept his chin angled high, the way it had been positioned before. Louiz stroked a hand through his hair, still thick with suds, and brought the razor back to his cheek.

  
  


They spoke often after that.

There were questions Deir still hadn't asked, and still didn't know how to. Louiz didn't seem to expect it of him. Instead they regularly took lunch together, out on the grass with Loissa looking down at them. The first time Deir met with her again—Greatmother, Grandmother, Her Former Grace the Empress Loissa—she did not seem surprised that Louiz had revealed her identity.

" _My_ question is, if you had known who I was, would you still have offered to kiss me?" She asked, with the same devilish spark of mischief that had first drawn Deir into keeping company with her. Louiz had gasped, scandalised, and demanded to know all about this _kissing_ that had taken place in his absence, and by the time Deir had managed to finish his red-faced explanation it seemed that whatever anger he might have held had dissipated. Which was, doubtless, exactly what the sly old woman had intended.

The frailness of her body really _was_ deceptive to the keen intelligence that clearly still lay beneath it, yet Deir often found himself remembering the fear that Louiz had let slip—the thought of what would happen once she was gone. And it seemed a reasonable fear. She _was_ old, no sense in trying to deny it, and the warm evening air was nonetheless always enough to have her complaining of an oncoming chill. Her luncheon arrived at the same time every day, and in the hour before it came Deir could see the way her grip would begin to tremble lightly upon the arms of her wicker chair.

She was becoming vulnerable, this fortress of a woman. Worst of all, she was still sharp enough to know that it was happening.

Some days, after they had eaten, Loissa would find unsubtle reasons to send Deir away. Louiz would always give him a reassuring smile, full of silent apology, as Deir was forced to go on his way, and then he would watch them from afar as the former Empress bent her head low and set to filling Louiz's ear with whatever wisdom or advice she had decided to impart. Sometimes Deir wondered if it had anything to do with him. Sometimes he was certain he would remain happier not knowing.

On those afternoons he found other ways to fill his time. By now he was becoming familiar with the servants, Rendolf and Elisa and their daughter Solise, and the men-at-arms as well. One of them—a thickset man whose gut did not seem to trouble his boasting at all—loudly named himself as Lord Benward, Captain of the House Guard when Deir had asked who kept the Emperor defended. When the other staff had laughed and japed at the claim, Benward had laughed longest and loudest at his own expense.

There _were_ no guardsmen here, save that the groundskeepers each knew which end of a sword to grasp in a crisis. "I'd sooner wield my rake, mind," One told Deir, and made a surprisingly impressive display of whirling the thing around in a strange little series of parries and thrusts. With some training, the man likely _would_ have done well armed with spear or pike. Deir smiled warmly at the showing, and insisted he felt much safer for having seen it.

More often, Deir would find somewhere secluded to sit and roll dice with himself. It was something he had done often at home, once he had finished the great effort of carving them to a standard he was happy with. As a teenager, he had thought that if he played with them often enough someone would see him and perhaps ask to join. The memory embarrassed him now, naive as it had been. As though he could erase the memory of his crime from people's minds simply by offering them a distraction.

But even so, he had his dice. It was one such afternoon, sitting beneath the conifers and rolling out a second challenge with the Gammyberry set, that Louiz suddenly appeared to settle down beside him. Deir reached to conceal his game, but not nearly fast enough.

"What are you doing out here?" Louiz asked, bright and curious as ever. He was dressed in shades of brown today, save for the bright silken whiteness of his waistcoat. It was amazing how he made even _that_ muted colour palette look so vibrant. His earrings were the first ones Deir had seen him wearing, the ones that resembled ripe bundles of blackcurrant hanging beneath each lobe.

Deir was dressed in clothing that Louiz had brought for him from Lake Leistel. His breeches had been cut from a soft dark material, much cooler and easier to move in despite the way their bleak colour soaked up the heat of the sun, and he had been given a vest and cloak to match. It was almost frustrating how much more comfortable he felt now that he had placed his Kerryman clothing aside. Stranger still, when he had looked at himself in the mirror—clean-shaven at last, his hair lightly bound back and his clothing so very _Imperial_ —he had the uncomfortable impression that he almost looked suited to it.

Maybe it shouldn't have surprised him, though. It was clear enough that Louiz had a strong sense of style. No wonder he could project that sense onto others as well.

It was too late to conceal the dice. Deir answered as clearly as he could, determined not to appear self-conscious. "It's a dice-throwing game."

Louiz's smile, wide and lopsided, was unmistakably sardonic. "I can see _that_ , Deir." But when Deir made a show of savagely snatching his dice away, lifting his pouch to store them once more, Louiz raised his hands in conciliation and exclaimed, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry! Please, don't go now. Tell me about your game."

Deir almost failed to suppress his smile as he placed the dice back down upon his cloak. He had never _truly_ intended to leave—and it was _very_ satisfying to know that he was starting to understand how Louiz worked.

"There are two sets of dice." He placed them down, the lighter set and the dark. "You roll the first set of five, and try to get certain combinations of numbers. Five all the same is good. Or five numbers that line up in a row, one two three four five. There are different combinations that are better than others." He didn't want to embarrass himself by explaining them all; not while Louiz was looking at him so raptly. "You roll the first set, check what you got, and choose one or two dice to keep. So if you rolled two the same, you might choose those."

Emperor Louiz nodded. "I follow you so far."

"After that, you do it all again with the second set. Roll five dice, choose the one or two you want to keep. Both sets of dice get to do it three times each, and by the end they should have their combination. If they've managed to get five the same, or a rising set, they can challenge the other set of dice to see who has the better combination."

It had always seemed simple enough to Deir when he was playing, but now that he had to state it out loud he found himself doubting his ability to explain. Yet Louiz nodded again, his expression now rested thoughtfully on the dice themselves, and Deir couldn't resist the satisfaction that bloomed in his chest at seeing it. "And whoever has the best combination wins? That seems straightforward enough."

"Well, the second set of dice can give a counter-challenge. They can choose to recast their dice, and hope they're lucky enough to defeat whatever the first set has. They can roll just one if they want, or all five, or just two or three or four." His explanation was getting worse, he was sure, but Deir could feel himself leaning into the subject the longer he spoke, his words taking an edge of enthusiasm that burned on his face just as much as it warmed his words. "There's no good reason not to try a counter-challenge. It makes the game more exciting. If the counter-challenge works, the first set can try and do a counter of their own, until one set finally defeats the other outright. Usually the first counter-challenge fails, but if you're lucky it goes back and forth a few times. That's the best sort of game. Once you finally get your winning set, you can start again."

Louiz tipped a die with one finger, and smiled at Deir. "Is this a popular game at Lake Kerryman?"

Deir could not keep the bemusement from his answer. "No? I made it up myself."

This time it was Louiz who looked bemused. "You did? Did you play with your brothers or sisters?"

Now Deir's face truly _was_ burning. "I played by myself."

"By yourself." Louiz's expression had gone unusually blank—Deir couldn't read what emotion was written there.

"Yes?" Deir responded, considering if he _should_ have collected his belongings and departed after all. But then Louiz sighed, a wounded little puff of sound that seemed _hurt_ somehow, and he looked back at Deir with a renewed expression of cheerful interest on his face.

"Well, Deir. I don't want to tell you how to play your own game, but it sounds to me like this would work much better with _two_ players." The Emperor extended his hand expectantly; he had that look again, as though he did not ever expect to be denied anything. "Come on, now. Talk me through a game. One dice set each."

"It doesn't work that way," Deir answered, but Louiz shook his head and thrust his hand out closer, palm open.

"I think it can. Come on, Deir. Teach me."

And there was no more room for arguing with that. By the time the sun had set, they'd been rolling dice beneath the conifers for hours.

  
  


Each morning, served breakfast by Solise, Deir expected to be told that Louiz had departed again. But almost two full weeks after the Emperor had returned, life within the manse almost seemed to have developed a sense of normalcy. It was close to three months now since Deir had left Castle Kerryman for the final time. That empty sense of loss still sat within him, but a new sort of understanding was slowly beginning to grow around that frostbitten place inside himself.

When he went to the study one evening, expecting to find the room empty and seeking little more than a comfortable chair to settle in before retiring to bed for the night, Deir had been surprised to find Emperor Louiz seated before one of the tables. His head was bent over two different books, the pair placed side by side, and his thick blond curls hung forward around his face like some strange golden cloud framing the summit of the sky. Conscious of interrupting, Deir had raised a silent hand in acknowledgement and turned to leave again.

"'Lo, Dier, don't go!" Louiz called behind him, and Deir realised with a warm little jolt of emotion in his chest that the response didn't surprise him any more. He had _expected_ Louiz to invite him in, and not only that, he had already decided to accept the invitation.

Deir pulled one of the plush leathery seats up alongside the table where the Emperor had been working. At least, that's what Deir _assumed_ he had been doing. He looked now at the two books, one clearly a lot more contemporary than the cracked yellowing pages of the others, and raised an eyebrow in askance.

Louiz seemed to understand the unspoken question. "This? It's a translation. Well, not _quite_ a translation. More of a retelling, really." He tapped one knuckle lightly on the older tome. "This is a record of His Great Aspect the Emperor Ellion's conquest of the easterly waters, the Grand Lakes of Nester and Thampstel. A much older and much bloodier transition of power than anything I would like to see replicated again. I have the original text here, and a much more recent transliteration. It's interesting to compare the two." 

It did not sound the least bit interesting to Deir, whose blood had shivered in his veins at the first mention of _conquest_ . But, oblivious, Louiz continued. "See, for example, right here. Our modern record talks about the surrender of Lesser Thampsteen as if it were well done. It still speaks of the eight hundred lives lost, but it doesn't _explain_ anything. The original record is much more explicit. Of the lives lost that day, almost seven hundred of them were those who had never taken up arms at all. It was a massacre of people the Empire would go on to claim under its banner of protection."

Deir did not know what Louiz could possibly want him to say to that.

It did not seem that Louiz needed any encouragement to continue. His eyes were fixed on the page before him as he spoke, one finger tracing along the ancient words as if touch alone could recount the horrors they told. "Emperor Ellion was never known for his compassion. 'The Great Aspect', he named himself. This history talks about that conquest as though it were a great success, and the retelling brushes anything we might _now_ find distasteful. But I can't close my eyes to it, Deir. Not as a person, and not as the new Emperor. I don't ever want to see another conquest like this while I rule this Empire."

It was too much for Deir to hold his tongue. "But you _do_ want conquest," He said, knuckles clenched beneath the table. Louiz looked up sharply, his blues eyes alert to the company he was keeping. Deir met his gaze, defiance straightening his back and lifting his chin.

"Deir," Louiz began slowly. He had the look of someone picking their words very carefully, knowing the chaos that one misstep could cause. "The Empire of Leistel will _always_ seek conquest. Until the day when every Grand Lake falls under one Imperial banner, the Empire will watch the horizon like the viper that stalks the nest of a bird, waiting for the moment it can gorge itself on the mistakes of those who would defend against it." The words did not seem to fill Louiz with pride. "I do not know Kerryman the way you do. I can't speak to what their mistake was. All I know is, your borders grew weak. Your might dwindled. Lake Kerryman _was_ going to be taken. My duty, as Emperor, was only deciding how it would be done."

What mistake did Kerryman make? _It was me. I made the mistake. I_ **_was_ ** _the mistake. It was me. It was_ **_me_ ** _._

"You could have left us _alone_ ," Deir growled. His heart was shaking in his chest, hard fast thundering beats that seemed to echo his guilt for anyone to hear. 

"No, I could not!" Louiz rarely raised his voice, but he did then. Almost as soon as he had the anger seemed to leave him, a flash like summer thunder that crossed his face and vanished in barely the blink of an eye. Then he continued, drained and defeated, hardly at all the bright-eyed sweet-tooth Deir had grudgingly come to know. "I don't expect you to forgive it, Deir, but I hoped you might at least believe me. This thing, it… it would have happened no matter what. All I could do was make it gentle."

"Gentle." The word tasted like ash. It tasted like raw red powdered meat, betrayal fresh upon his tongue. Deir grit his teeth tighter. "You seize our land to call your own, and name it _gentle_?"

"And what would you have had me do instead, Deir? Send an army, mounted and armed, to turn your Lake red and melt your snows with spilled blood? Or rescind my role as Emperor in protest, and sacrifice _more_ lives for the sake of keeping my own pride? Should I have allowed someone more bloodthirsty, more able to _stomach_ this, to step into my shoes and finish what was started? _It was going to happen_ . I did everything I could. If you want to lay blame, look to your own doors. Look to your father, and _his_ father, and ask them why they let their strength fail. Why they left _me_ with no choice but to wear the robes of another warmonger in this history of brutes and tyrants."

"Don't lay this at Grandsire's feet!" Deir was up now, ready to reach across and _strike_ the Emperor himself if he dared defile Grandsire's name like that again. "You have no idea the good he did for Kerryman! The good he did for me!" Louiz has pushed his chair back sharply at Deir's anger, the scrape of wood against stone cutting harshly across the sound of Deir's own voice. It didn't stop him from going on—it couldn't keep him from saying too much. "You did this, Louiz. You don’t get to try and pin this on anyone else. It _wasn't_ anyone else! It was you and it was me, don’t you get that? We did this! It was us!"

The Emperor's voice was calm and hard. "Sit back down."

He didn't. "It was _us_ , Louiz. We destroyed it." His arm, his scarred right arm, felt as though it was seizing tight beside him—as if those burns were fresh again. Deir cradled it across his body, almost hugging himself as the hot rush of confession tore his throat. "I did it. It wasn't anyone but me. _I_ cursed Kerryman. I brought it all down. I deserve this, I deserve to be here, I deserve— I _don't_ deserve anything, I shouldn’t have, I—"

“Deir!” Louiz snapped across him, a harsh crack of interruption, but Deir shook his head and turned his back and tried more than anything just to ground himself and _breathe_ . How long, how long has it been since he’d last had a turn like this? How long since he had felt the walls closing in on him in such a way, since he had felt what had to be the helpless rage of his ancestors clawing his heart, crushing his chest, squeezing all the life and sense from him until he could hear the very _wheeze_ of air fighting to stay in his throat.

So long. So long since he had let himself fall into this. Deir could tell, vaguely, that Louiz was approaching him. Could tell, vaguely, that he should excuse himself and walk away before the Emperor saw him at his most shameful and weak. But it all felt impossibly distant, impossibly beyond his control. All he had now was the panic and the terror, the livid sharpness of pain in his chest and that awful certainty that he had done this to himself.

“Deir, listen to me. Listen to me.” He could hear Louiz saying it, could feel Louiz’s hands pushing into his shoulders, guiding him back to the chair and squeezing hard and soft with each steady exhale he was trying to encourage. Deir moved where he was bid—lacked the strength to do anything else. “Slow down, Deir. Breathe like I am, understand? Breathe with me now.”

He did. For long, slow, claustrophobic minutes, Deir breathed.

It wasn’t easy to come back, when he was so long out of practice. He had learned to keep this from happening, learned to recognise when these turns were sneaking close and found all the tricks he needed to shut them down and lock himself away. Usually that meant surrendering to long days or weeks where his emotions would seem to press and press inside himself until they became as tight and impregnable as a stone. But that wasn’t so bad.

Now, with Louiz kneeling before him, clutching his fingers between his own warm dry palms… there was no place to escape. No running. “Are you well now, Deir?” Louiz asked, and he sounded like he truly meant it. “Can you talk to me?”

He did not think he could _ever_ talk. Not about this. Not about what he had done.

Deir nodded. Before him, Louiz nodded in turn and rose slowly, dragging his own chair around the table to place it practically knee-to-knee with Deir's own. Then he took hold of Deir's hand again, squeezed it with all the reassurance he had no right to give, and tilted his head as though that alone was question enough. Deir averted his gaze. "Do you already know?" He asked, and although he hadn't _planned_ the question, he realised it had been sitting inside him for a while now. Ever since that day Greatmother had said Louiz _chose_ him.

Louiz's hair shifted softly as he shook his head. "I knew you weren't well loved among your own family. I've never known why."

How could he explain this? Deir stared down at his hand, tanned white fingers hidden in Louiz's own. "Do you know our rituals?" No outsider to Kerryman was _supposed_ to know, but it was more sacred than it was secret. It was hard to believe the leader of an Empire couldn't have at least _some_ idea. "Do you know how we treat our dead?"

There was a short pause, Louiz seeming to consider his words carefully. "Forgive me, Deir, if this is blunt. I don't know how better to say it. You eat them. That is, I am told you do."

Blunt indeed. Nonetheless, Deir nodded. "It's more than that. When someone dies, their heart is taken. We smoke it and cure it, and we remember the person they were. We honour every good thing they did, and every skill they honed in life. All of those things are in our hearts, and they stay in our hearts even after the rest is gone. When the time comes, the heart is eaten by those best served to do so."

Louiz looked a shade paler, but he did not baulk—his voice remained steady as he asked, "Best served in what way?"

"An apprentice usually consumes part of their master. A son or daughter will consume their parent, if they're to become the leader of the household." The subject almost seemed distant when he explained it this way. As though he himself had never been touched by such things. "It's a ritual bound in duty, not in love or admiration. A master blacksmith would not leave part of their craft to a loving partner; they would gift it to someone able to continue the legacy of their work. Love has its own place, and its own ways to be remembered. We're _not_ barbarians. We're not. But the heart is about what can live on, and keep Kerryman itself alive. The heart is unselfish. It's for the betterment of us all."

There was a light knock at the door to the study, and then Elisa's head appeared around the doorway. Deir turned his face away, acutely aware of the shameful state he must be in, but Louiz simply raised his finger and thumb in a gesture she seemed to understand. She ducked away again, and Louiz leaned back to squeeze his hand once more.

"We've nothing like that in Leistel, but you make it sound oddly noble."

Deir nodded, lips drawn together. This next part was the centre of it. This was the part that had changed everything. "My Grandsire was a remarkable man." Just saying _that_ much sent prickles through him, hot spikes of anxiety and shame. _I'm sorry, Grandsire_ , he pleaded silently with the spectre inside himself. _I'm sorry. I am always sorry_ . "And he was my friend. My sisters and brothers and even my mother and father, they were all made for things that I was not. They would love a room like this. They would read for hours just to enjoy the sensation of doing so. The best fun _I_ could have in a room like this would be climbing the bookcase."

A small murmur of appreciation escaped Louiz; he smiled apologetically at Deir's taut expression. "I'm sorry. Please, Deir. Go on."

"I was good at running, and climbing, and fighting, and being the idiot. I couldn't focus the way they could. We would be tutored together, my siblings and me, and I... I just couldn't do the things that they could. I would read the same words again and again and still only feel as though half of them had stayed with me. I would try to concentrate, but..." He hated this. It had never been something he could articulate, and years without trying hadn't made it any easier. "I just can't do it. No one understood that. They told me I wasn't trying. So then I _didn't_ try any more. The only one who seemed to understand was Grandsire. And then he died." 

They had known it was coming. He was mortal, as were they all, and his health had been draining from him for years. The last two weeks of Grandsire's life had been the longest and most wretched Deir had ever known. The memory of it tore inside him even now. 

"After he was gone I began to try again. I knew I had to do better. But it didn't get any easier. And..." Deir trailed off, and stayed quiet as Elisa entered the room long enough to place a jug and two clay cups upon the table beside them. Louiz smiled and waved her on; she gave them a curious glance as she went, pulling the door closed behind her once more. As the room descended back into silence, Deir closed his eyes. "If I could have been more like Grandsire, I might have been worth something. That was what I thought. And I missed him. I missed him so much."

Wordlessly, Louiz poured out two cups of mead. Deir accepted his gratefully, sipping one shallow mouthful before trying to continue. "Grandsire's heart was prepared. It cured for almost three hundred days. Most of it was going to be given to my father, as the next Sire of Kerryman, but others would have some as well. The people who needed to carry on Grandsire's work, and his legacy. The people who could keep Kerryman safe and strong." 

His hand tightened around the cup as he spoke; his scars seemed to itch beneath his rich Imperial clothing. "I wasn't chosen, but I couldn't take it. The day before Grandsire's heart was to be shared, he was displayed. So we could remember all he had done for Kerryman, and show our respect. I went to see him.”

The room had not grown cooler, but Deir felt another shiver creep over his flesh as he continued. “His heart had been grated and ground until only the powder was left. He was on a pedestal, surrounded by torchlight. He was… he was just dust in a bowl, but he was _there_. I could feel him there. I knew he'd hate me for it, but I did it anyway." 

Deir remembered the way the shadows had been leaping in that room, the flickering of the torchlight and the shallow marble bowl that had gleamed despite it all. He remembered asking the guards to give him a moment alone and how easily they had trusted him, because no one had ever done anything so awful as what he had been about to do. "I stole some of Grandsire's heart. I ate it." Three times he had reached over those flames. Three times he had betrayed everything Kerryman held most dear. "And when they caught me, I panicked. I knocked it down. The bowl, the pedestal, all of it. I didn't mean to, I really didn’t mean to. But I did."

"Drink," Louiz said softly, and Deir realised how thin his voice had become as he whispered through the last of it. He sipped again, deeper and longer this time, and felt the sweetness of honey blend harshly with the thick burn of alcohol. His voice seemed a little stronger for it when he spoke again.

“That was the end of it. My Grandsire, and the Sire before him, and every other rule Kerryman had known. They had each passed their strength down to one another, and I destroyed it all. There was nothing left for my father, or anyone else.”

It was too immense to convey with simple words. Deir gathered his right arm closer against his body, remembering how he had reached _through_ the fire in one last desperate lunge; how his fingertips had barely grazed the edge of the bowl as Grandsire tipped and fell, the thin marble shattering across that frozen stone floor. He remembered, too, how the guardsmen had seized him, yanked him away from the fire and stared at him with such horror and fear, so much worse than anger would have been. He remembered, in the worst parts of his nightmares, the keening grief of their voices as they knelt before Grandsire’s spilled remains.

“Lake Kerryman lost the knowledge and wisdom of every Sire who had ever ruled. And, ten years later, we fell to the Empire.” Deir smiled; there was nothing else left to do. “Now they’ve sent their most poisoned gift along to you. Surprise, Louiz.”

The silence that descended then was as cold and thick as any winter snow. Deir could feel himself shivering beneath it, stuck between the terrifying knowledge of sharing something he was never meant to share, and the almost perverse sense of awful selfish relief he felt at finally _saying it_. He had added yet another layer of betrayal to the theft of his Grandsire’s legacy, and worst of all, he couldn’t even say he was completely sorry that he had done so. Whatever happened next, it felt that something awful and trapped had finally shifted within him.

Emperor Louiz’s expression was deeply thoughtful. The twilight of evening had begun to creep in around them as they’d spoken, and now those shadows shaped the plains of Louiz’s handsome face. “This is why you blame yourself,” He finally said, and Deir stiffened at the implication. “You believe the Empire took your home because you did this thing.”

“Don’t try to tell me otherwise.” Deir hunched in tighter upon himself, the muscle of his scarred arm taut and trembling as he yanked it ever tighter against his chest. “Don’t act like you understand this. You can’t _know_ what this meant to us. You can’t understand what I did.”

He had thought Louiz would argue, or even take offense, but instead he pushed back in his chair and sat to his tallest and straightest height—suddenly and undeniably _Imperial_. 

His Greatness Yet Undeclared. The Emperor Louiz.

“Very well, Deir. You’re right. This _isn’t_ something I can understand.” Louiz nodded firmly, as if he truly had accepted what Deir had told him; and then made a single cutting gesture with the flat of one palm, as if to turn it all away. So much pain, so easily dismissed from his Imperial view. “Your crimes _there_ speak nothing to the man you are _here_. Let me make that clear to you. Lake Leistel has no sense of what you did, and nor does it wish to. So long as you live within reach of my Empire, you are pardoned.”

 _You are pardoned_. Something frozen and bitter cut down the length of Deir’s spine, a violent shiver of emotion unable to accept what he was hearing. An answer stuck, frostbitten, upon his tongue; he shook his head blindly, and shook it again as Louiz’s spoke over his silent protest.

“You’re pardoned, Deir. You are pardoned, and precious, and a life worth keeping. I won’t have you living under this geas any longer.”

Deir was on his feet again. His voice sounded almost hysteric in his own ears, furious and floundering against this unexpected tide. “You can’t just take it away like that! You can’t just say those things like they’re true!”

“Why not?” Louiz asked, and the calm of his voice did more to undo Deir’s fury than any other challenge could. Just as quickly as he had risen to his feet Deir sat back down again, a heavy deflation as all that raw emotion flooded through him and seemed to vanish—dismissed as easily as a flash of motion from Louiz’s Imperial hand. Helpless against it, Deir sank into the worn leather beneath him, dragging one hand uselessly through his own hair.

“Because I don’t know what to do without it.” Deir could hear the disbelief in his own voice. The bitterness. The strange, inexplicable sense of loss. “I don’t know how to live like that.”

Finally, Louiz smiled. A soft smile, a smile that did not deny anything that had come before—a smile that was sympathetic again, concerned and tender and reaching. Deir felt the yearning space within himself reaching back in desperate response, and he no longer had the strength left to fight against it.

“Start by watching me,” Louiz said, and Deir listened. “You watch me, Deir. Kerryman is mine now, isn’t it? Don’t let me do your people harm. Don’t let me steal it. Protect your home. Keep the Empire in check.” A thin line had appeared along Louiz’s brow, the only hint that his words might in some way have been difficult for him to speak. “Tell me what I need to do, Deir. Help me.”

Help the Empire. Would that not be the final betrayal? Deir shook his head before taking another long sweet mouthful of that thick honey mead and letting it fill his veins with something sweeter than doubt. "I don't know," He admitted, and looked Louiz in the eye. "I'm not sure I can. But... I'll think about it, Louiz. I’ll think about it."

“That’s good enough,” Louiz replied, and even in the low light of the study, Deir could see the flood of earnest relief that brightened his eyes. “That’s good enough for me.”

  
  


They finished the first jug of mead much too quickly, and Louiz called for another. Deir was tipsy enough that he should have known better, but after the things he had revealed that evening there was a hollow space left inside him and he knew he had to fill it with _something_. Mead wasn't an answer, but for now, it would be enough.

And the more they drank, the funnier Louiz became.

The Emperor was animated as he told one story after another, jokes of his childhood before coming to Castle Leistel, tales of endless squabbling with his sister that nonetheless overflowed with affection. Deir was jealous, but strangely it wasn't an awful feeling. As though hearing these memories could knit a little piece of something that had been missing in his _own_ lonesome past, something that had never existed between him and his own brothers and sisters.

After a while, he told some stories of his own. He had always been the butt of his siblings jokes, cerebral pranks that Deir had often failed to understand even after the laughter had died and they'd tried to explain to him _exactly_ how foolish he had made himself look. Recalling it now, with a belly warmed by honey and a sympathetic smile seated across from him, it all seemed so small and silly. It was hard to believe it had ever made him feel so isolated. It wasn't until after Grandsire's death, and all that followed, that he would truly begin to understand what isolation could be.

He shared stories of Grandsire as well. "He was the greatest climber Kerryman ever knew," Deir told proudly. "He scaled peaks that no man or woman had ever returned from, and then he taught others to do the same. He was the greatest. And he believed that I could be as good as him one day. It was the only thing anyone ever said I was _good_ at. Truly, honestly, _really_ good at. I wanted him to live, Louiz. I wanted him to see me become the best."

"You can still do it," Louiz tried to encourage him.

It was the mead in his blood that had him raise his voice in response, frustration slipping through the cracks in his quiet facade. " _No_ , I can't. Didn't you see my arm? I can't do anything like I could before. It's punishment. It's what I deserve, too."

Louiz looked very much as though he wanted to argue against that, but instead he had moved the topic along to some _other_ story, some _other_ memory, and the anger that had risen in Deir died back down to embers once again.

Afterwards, Deir could not even remember how conversation had finally guided them to the opposite tower. Only, Louiz had started telling some story about a time where Ellois sabotaged his wardrobe, and Deir had suddenly remembered the rows and rows of clothing he had found. "I've got a question for you," He cut across, and downed the last dregs of mead that still lingered in his cup. Two jugs between them now. Any more and he was like to _really_ make a fool of himself. "Come with me."

"Go with you?" Louiz asked, perplexed, but when Deir leapt unsteadily to his feet and headed for the door, the Emperor followed with an indulgent grin splashed across his face.

They passed Solise in the hallway, and Deir blew her a kiss before bursting into a run. "Prince Deir!" She exclaimed as he hurried by, and Louiz's astonished laughter rang behind him. Then he heard the sound of the Emperor's feet rushing to join pace behind his own, and by the time they burst into the opposite tower Deir was laughing too. He couldn't even remember the last time he'd laughed like this. 

Louiz's eyes were shining brilliantly in his face, but the room around them was darker than ever. The evening had drifted by around them, the sun had set and taken that warm orange glow along with it, and the low light pouring through the tower windows had the dim gleam of twilight. Even so, Deir found himself reluctant to light another candle, surrounded by so much rich and precious fabric.

The Emperor had no such concerns. He moved through the darkened space with confident ease, and it was only moments before a spark flared to life before him. He turned, a lantern in his hand, and held it aloft to light the space between them. "Alright Deir," He said, his voice still heavy and warm with the effort of their running, their laughter. "What's this question?"

It was easy enough to find the auburn gown, with its high neck and slim form. Deir lifted it down and held it out before himself, watching Louiz inspect it curiously. "My question, Your Greatness Yet Undeclared, is why do you own so many pretty pretty dresses?"

"Ah, well, these were Loissa's," Louiz began honestly, but then his brows rose and he looked sharply across at Deir with a renewed appreciation of what he was hearing. "Wait. You didn't think these were _mine_ , did you?"

"Should I not have?" Deir wasn’t sure how he'd become so bold, but when he leaned across to flick the earring hanging at Louiz's ear—purple of course, always with the purple—the Emperor snickered and turned his cheek away. "I've never met anyone so worried about this stuff as you. Dresses didn't seem that hard to imagine."

It looked to Deir as though Louiz couldn't quite decide whether to be offended or delighted. "Imagined it, did you!" He prodded back, and Deir laughed around the redness that inevitably flooded his face. Thankfully, Louiz continued talking. "You've spent too much time with _her_ . Loissa's always saying I preen like an Empress. How's that fair? She _was_ an Empress. Someone should tell her she schemes like an Emperor."

"Someone?" Deir teased. Louiz dropped his shoulders in a lazy shrug.

"Not me. I learned that lesson a long time ago. You know, she's the one who told me to try and seem as empty as I could. She said I'd get more truth from people if they thought I'd be too blind to see it. She was right." He shrugged again, and reached over to take the dress from Deir, placing the lantern on the floor between them. When he ran one hand down the length of the gown, the fabric shimmered in the low firelight gloom. "But I hated it. I hate pretending to be an idiot. I hate having to be loud and smiling and stupid all the time."

It seemed to Deir that he would rather have spent his life _pretending_ to be an idiot than actually being one. But to Louiz he said, "Is that why you come here, to the manse? So you can be yourself?"

Louiz looked up from the gown, expression made vulnerable beneath the faint low light. His voice sounded almost puzzled when he spoke, as though the observation had surprised him. "That, and so I can spend time with her before she's gone. Who _else_ will tell me how vain I am to my face."

"I will," Deir volunteered, the words coming smooth and easy. Even so, Louiz looked delighted. And then, absurdly, he began to pull off his shirt. "Hey now!" Deir yelped, turning his back quickly before Louiz could completely expose his torso. Behind him, Louiz's voice rang with the sound of cheerful laughter.

"What, now you _don't_ want to see it?" His voice deepened a touch—it took Deir a moment to recognise this new tone was supposed to be in imitation of _himself_ . "Don't turn around until I tell you, I'm _so_ shy you know."

"Shut up!" Deir snapped, and spun back around just to prove Louiz wrong. By then Louiz had yanked the auburn gown over his head, though he seemed to be having trouble fitting the thinnest part of the waist around the width of his shoulders. The stupid wriggling sight of it was enough to have Deir doubled over, even as he stepped closer to try and offer his help.

From within the crumbled mess of fabric, Louiz's voice was muffled and petulant. "This isn't working."

"Hold still!" Deir chided him in response, trying to angle the Emperor's arms above his head. Eventually Louiz gave in and followed Deir's guidance, but even with that effort it was impossible to get the damn gown any further down the Emperor's body. Now that they'd come so close, Deir was surprised to find himself disappointed, and apparently Louiz felt the same.

"Fine!" He huffed, and threw the gown from over his head to land in a crumpled heap on the floor. Now his chest _was_ bare, smooth and brown and clean shaven. _That_ didn't take Deir by surprise, though he hated himself a little for not being able to keep his curiosity in check. If Louiz was at all self-conscious about being seen he certainly wasn't showing it. Instead he ploughed straight into the row of gowns closest to him, flicking through with a quick series of _mm_ 's and _no_ 's and _not bad_ 's until he finally pulled another one loose. "Here we go."

Astonishingly, it was not purple. Deir found himself grinning uncontrollably. It had to be the mead. "Go on then," He encouraged, and watched as Louiz stepped into the absurd nest of blue and white skirts. He wasn't sure when he had agreed to become the Emperor's personal tailor, but when Louiz waved him closer Deir did not hesitate to assist. This particular gown fastened with a series of tiny white buttons all along the spine—Deir quickly gave up on that, opting simply to fasten those at the very top and bottom. That was probably for the best; Louiz was not broad by any means, but his figure was clearly not well suited to... whatever it was they were doing here.

Except that, when he turned around, Deir felt a peculiar displacement in the base of his stomach as he realised his first assessment had been correct. Despite how ridiculous this was, and despite the truly unnecessary number of fluffy translucent layers that comprised the bottom half of this audaciously puffy gown, Emperor Louiz _did_ somehow look much much better than he had any right to. "What do you think she'd make of _this_ ?" Louiz asked, and spun on one heel with all the grace and dexterity of a newborn fawn abandoned on thin ice. By the time Deir had stopped laughing long enough to even _try_ and answer, Louiz had already pulled out two more gowns. "This is for you," He insisted as he thrust one in Deir's direction. 

"No!" Deir immediately objected, but it was hard to muster any sense of his beleaguered pride when Louiz had already started stripping the blue dress back over his head in favour of something black and red and dangerous-looking. 

What would his Grandsire think of him now? What would _any_ of them think of him, playing at dress-up and giddy on mead, making friends in the heart of the Empire? Making friends _with_ the Empire? _I won't have you living under this geas_ , Louiz's voice soothed in the back of his mind, as warm and sweet as the honey that laced his blood, and Deir felt a wild abandon seize hold of him. When he pulled his own shirt over his head, Louiz's cheerful crows of celebration were all the encouragement he thought he'd ever needed.

There was no accounting for the things that Louiz picked out, or the way they switched and switched from one absurd outfit to the next. Deir would never have imagined that such a short time away from Kerryman would make such a strange and foreign mess of him. But time seemed to disappear as they played at beings fools with one another, posing and dancing and almost hitting the floor with the force of their laughter. 

Deir found himself in a gown of florid pink and white lace, with cuffs so long and layered they almost seemed enough to trip on. He wore a corset of cream and red, patterned with summer flowers and laced all up the sides, clearly designed to accentuate assets that he simply _did not have_. He tried something low-cut and fashioned in a faint rose gold, laced with pearls and gathered at the waist in great bunches of rich silken fabric that seemed to flourish outward like some perfect hand-crafted flower. The illusion of hips and curves was ludicrous—the way Louiz applauded as he made the fabric spin and bounce was almost as intoxicating as the mead had been.

And if Deir was enjoying himself, then _Louiz_ seemed to have almost gone mad with delight. For every one outfit Deir managed to fight his way into, it seemed as though Louiz went through three, and for each he found time to give a faux-scholarly explanation. _The gold brocade honours the ample gifts of its buxom wearer_ , he'd boasted, grabbing at the empty spills of fabric that flapped across his own flat chest. _This bustle style creates a silhouette that promises to be remembered in the annals of history_ , he swore, and the way he had pranced about, bouncing his hips the way Deir could only imagine a trained dancer should be able, indeed promised to be something Deir would not be able to forget in a hurry.

Deir couldn't understand how it was possible for anyone to be so lacking in self-consciousness, but even as he envied it he found himself slipping further and further along that same path. He had never laughed like this, not ever _,_ not even when Grandsire had still been alive. And the way it felt when he made _Louiz_ laugh was… he did not know how to _begin_ explaining how that felt. He had never been the witty one, the clever one. And this horseplay, this fooling about, there was nothing clever about any of it, but the way Louiz looked at him with eyes that seemed to glitter amusement and adoration made Deir feel as though, for just one night, he might have been the wittiest man to ever walk the shores of the Empire.

He wasn't sure exactly when he stopped caring about being seen, but there came a point where they were both stripping down to their undergarments between outfit swaps and it didn't seem uncomfortable at all. The scars on Deir's arm hardly slowed him, and when he _did_ struggle with a sleeve or an overhead stretch, Louiz barely seemed to notice.

The Emperor was wearing something thick and red and silken when he plucked the lantern from the floor and hurried off toward the back of the room. "Hold on!" Deir called after him, taken off guard, but Louiz didn't slow for him. Instead he vanished, the last flickers of the lamplight disappearing abruptly enough that Deir could only guess that Louiz had gone upstairs.

As if in answer, he heard Louiz's voice calling down to him. "Come on, you!"

Deir's own dress had three distinct layers in the creamy white tones of the skirt, and a bodice all covered in blue and gold beads. Following up the stairs had him trip and bash his shin on one of the stone steps—when he cursed aloud, Louiz's laughter rang down after him. 

"Fuck off, Your Greatness!" He yelled back, but he couldn't keep from smiling as he reached the upper gallery and found that Louiz had thrown himself face down across that absurdly large bed. "All tired out, Sire?" Deir asked, and though he knew it was the wrong word, he didn't bother to correct himself. Instead he crossed the room and sat down in a heavy fluff of skirts, wondering how on earth anyone could function in one of these dresses for any length of time.

The first response was a muffled groan. Then Louiz managed to flop himself over, looking more like a carp in the bottom of a boat than anything regal. His earrings hung back among his pale blond curls, darker than ever in what little light their stuttering lantern could still give. They had been in here for hours. Deir could hardly remember the tight-chested panic he had been feeling when they had spoken truths together in the study.

Now Louiz had only one truth for him, and it was an easy one. "Oh Deir," He said, and reached out blindly to take Deir's hand in his own. "You're great. You are. I am so glad to have you here."

" _I'm_ glad I'm here," Deir heard himself reply, and whatever small part of him might have still revolted at the idea of saying such a thing, it was truly drowned out by the sense of comfortable fulfillment. He _was_ comfortable, here and now. Comfortable enough, perhaps, to finally ask the question that had been trapped beneath his tongue ever since Loissa had first given him the truth of it. "Louiz, why me? Why did you want _me_?"

Sleepy-eyed and flush from hours of foolery, Louiz looked every bit the idiot he said he hated pretending to be. When he answered, Deir was surprised by how level and steady his voice remained. "I was curious. I'm sorry I don't have a better answer. I simply wanted to meet you."

That felt so close to the truth, and _yet_ . "But _why_ ," Deir pushed, "Why _me_? What did you know? What had you heard? Why weren't you curious about someone else?"

The hand around Deir's squeezed tighter. Louiz looked at him in silence for a careful, considering moment—it made Deir feel as though something special had happened, and that whatever it had been, it was about to come to an end. The iciness of it rippled through his chest. "We have people in Kerryman," Louiz said, and looked toward the ceiling. "We always have. Spies, I guess you'd call it. They report things to us. I've known about you for a while."

Silently, Deir pulled his hand away. Louiz winced, but didn't try to stop him. 

"Known about me," Deir repeated, his voice dull and resigned and _his_. That was it. He sounded like himself again. Suddenly, he was angry. Angry at this stupid dress, and angry at the man who'd lulled him in to making such a fool of himself. He stood, pacing away from the bed and ignoring the stricken look that followed.

"Yes, Deir. I've known about you," Louiz said, sitting up to watch him. Deir stared back through the darkness, refusing to give any more away. Louiz sighed as he continued. "I didn't know much. I didn't know what happened between you and your Grandsire, or you and your family. But I knew that Kerryman had a prince that no one favoured. A prince that appeared only when decorum would have made his absence noticeable. I heard that you were seen alone, when you were seen at all. That you were not tutored with the rest of your siblings past the age of fourteen. That you used to hunt and travel and visit among the peoples of Lake Kerryman, and then your father rose to Sire and suddenly all your involvement ceased. I heard you were a rowdy trouble-making boy who would talk to anyone, and then, one day, you simply stopped."

His life, through the words of someone who had never been there. Deir listened in silence, feeling the sensation of Louiz's words creeping in to clog his own throat with distilled grief. _Rowdy? Talk to anyone?_ Oh. But yes. He _had_ been like that, once. He had never done well with studies, never meshed well with his siblings... but the stablehands loved him, didn't they? And the servants. The huntsmen. The men-at-arms. He always wanted to talk to people who kept busy, people who worked with their hands. People who felt just a little more like _him_. 

How had he forgotten that?

Louiz continued, unaware of Deir's thoughts. "I just wanted to know what happened. I thought that, maybe, the person you'd been was still in there. I suppose I made a bit of a story of you, Deir. I fell a bit in love with an idea of who you might be. I'm sorry."

It was hard to know which part was harder to hear—that Louiz had taught himself to love a myth, or that he was sorry it had happened. "And what now?" Deir pressed, his voice hard and defensive. "Was I anything like what you wanted me to be?"

"A little," The Emperor admitted ruefully. When he looked up, something apologetic and yearning in his shadowed eyes, Deir had thought he knew what was coming next. Instead, Louiz met his gaze and said, "Come here and kiss me. Then I'll know for sure."

So brazen. So self-assured. Deir wanted to hate it. He wasn't sure why he _didn't_. "You're awful," He bit out, fists shaking at his sides. But even so, he stepped closer. Even so, he dipped to one knee, cream and tulle pooling like steam around him as cupped Louiz's cheek and leaned in close.

They didn't say anything for a long time. The first kiss was careful and tender, but it led so quickly to another, and another, and then too many more to bother counting. Each one trembled through Deir, something fresh and new and unknown, and he couldn't explain why it seemed to come to him so naturally but it was not as terrifying or confusing as he'd always guessed it would be. Even when Louiz's hands appeared beneath his arms to drag him back up onto the bed, Deir leaned gratefully into the motion and let himself sink down into the plush feather stuffed sheets beneath them. Their legs tangled, a horrible mess of fabric and friction, and then they were kissing again, long slow languid attention that seemed to take everything else away.

He could still taste the faintness of honey and mead; it was easy to imagine that Louiz must _always_ taste sweet. That thought, and all the motions that had come along with it, set him back to smiling; Louiz sat back long enough to trace his curved lips with one fingertip. "There," He said, before leaning in once more. " _That's_ the way you should be."

Louiz murmured against him as their tongues met, soft heated little vibrations that told Deir when he was doing something right, that told him _what_ and _when_ and _how_. Each positive affirmation fired through him, had him winding his legs tighter and firmer through the layers and layers that separated them as he let himself keep testing the ways Louiz would move back against him, until finally Louiz whispered, "There you go, that's it," in his ear and Deir realised the way he was grinding his body against Louiz's own, shifting and thrusting blindly against the welcoming rise of Louiz's hip. It was the only thing that seemed able to startle him back to reality—Deir tried to pull away, confused and unsure, but Louiz moved with him and stroked his face.

"No, it's okay," Louiz whispered again, and leaned down to drag his teeth along the lobe of Deir's ear, and Deir could do _nothing_ to defend himself from that except collapse back against the bed beneath him and dig his fingers in tightly against whatever part of Louiz was close enough.

"Don't," He heard himself whining low in his throat, "Don't, don't", but when Louiz actually seemed like he might pull away Deir tightened his grip and heard himself growl, and realised it wasn't denial that burned in him, not _don't_ but _don't stop._ There was something new in the way Louiz smiled at him, the long lopsided grin gone all wicked now in the heat of what was happening between them.

And yet, when Louiz's hand moved up and beneath the gown, each motion was careful and thoughtful and left just enough time for Deir to speak against it before it shifted higher. The damn skirt was triple-layered and Louiz was only beneath two of them; Deir was certain he couldn't take that final barrier of distance between them right up until he felt the way Louiz's fingers curled around him through the tulle, and then he was certain he couldn't think about _anything_ any more. When he came, astonished and gasping and beyond the edge of overwhelmed, it was like he might never be able to move again.

He didn't think he'd ever seen Louiz so pleased with himself, either, or so suffused with... with whatever it was that seemed to have him _glowing_ like that. "You don't mind, do you...?" Louiz asked him, and he didn't explain any further. Just nestled himself in close beside Deir and raised one knee on the edge of the bed, eased his own skirts high around his hips, and took himself in hand.

Drunk and sated and set adrift in the aftermath, Deir watched through a glorious haze as Louiz's hands stroked over his own body. When he found it in himself to move he managed to twist himself onto one side, lacing his fingers through Louiz's own and feeling that spike of satisfaction shift through him again as he saw the way Louiz's own expression changed—that little slip of control, that step toward something wilder and needier and less his own. 

" _Ah_ , Deir," He groaned, his head tilting back to rest in the space beneath Deir's shoulder; Deir squeezed, thinking of the way his own body would behave, and Louiz jerked needfully into the touch. " _Deir_ ," He let out again, his voice thick and rich in the heat of it, and Deir stroked him, as quick and fast and eager as every pitched sound escaping Louiz's throat, stroked him right up through the shudder of release that followed.

They slept there, tangled arm in arm. When morning came, no part of it had been a dream.

  
  


"I suppose the dress is ruined."

Sitting on the edge of the bed, his forehead in his hands, Deir barely managed to look up at where Louiz was standing. Stark naked—of course he was—Louiz nudged the pile of soiled fabric with one toe, and shot Deir a look that was probably supposed to be ashamed.

Deir was naked as well, although he had at least pulled one of the feathery sheets across his lap for the sake of modesty. _A little late for that_ , a voice prodded in the back of his mind. Deir ignored it. "Are _you_ going to tell Greatmother, or should I?"

It was probably cruel to take satisfaction from the mortified expression on Louiz's face. "Oh, _no_. No, we... we don't have to tell her, do we? We'll say the rats got in here. Or perhaps someone broke in. A vile brigand with perverted tendencies."

"A perverse brigand." Deir's voice was painfully dry.

Louiz stretched, fingers interlaced as he reached over his head. "Something like that. A dangerous repressed barbarian. You've debauched the innocent and simple-minded Emperor, you know. They'll be howling for your blood."

It was plainly intended as a joke, but Deir couldn't help the way his shoulders went rigid at the suggestion of it. Louiz must have seen it too—he crossed the space between them to sit back heavily on the bed, close enough for their bare skin to lean flush against one another. The warmth of another person pressed so close was something Deir hadn't realised he’d missed until it had been given back to him. Now that he had it, he wasn't sure he would ever be willing to let it go.

"I'm teasing you," Louiz said, and Deir was grateful to hear it spoken aloud. "My business is mine, and especially so here in this little sanctuary. We've done nothing wrong, and I fully intend for us to do so many more times." 

Deir hesitated, even now—but then he reached, slipping his arm around Louiz's hip to draw him closer; Louiz gave an appreciative little murmur in return, silencing. The silence that lengthened between them was companionable and welcoming, the kind that made Deir consider pulling Louiz fully into his arms and simply holding him there until the sun had set all over again.

But, eventually, it was Louiz who spoke again. "I was so quiet before they made me Emperor. I only ever liked to joke with my sister. This life made something different out of me." Deir shifted, just enough to look at Louiz's face. The expression there was sombre, his blue eyes downcast as he spoke. When he noticed Deir looking at him he flashed what seemed like a muscle-memory smile, and then he seemed to realise what he had done, and the curve of his mouth turned a shade more rueful. "They made me loud when I only ever wanted to be small. And you... well, they did the opposite to you, don't you think?"

 _They made me small when I only wanted to be loud?_ Deir considered the thought, turning it over carefully in his mind. "Maybe," he conceded, remembering again the things that Louiz had told him last night. The rowdy boy who had wanted to talk to everyone. "Probably. But I did it too. I made myself something they couldn't forgive."

"Mm." It sounded very much as though Louiz wanted to disagree—Deir was grateful that he kept that thought to himself. He couldn't have that argument again. Not yet. "Then I'm glad you're here instead, Deir. I'm glad you're among people who can love you. I want you to have those things."

It was every bit what Deir had come to expect from the sweet-tooth Emperor. "I don't want to be here," Deir said, knowing it was cruel when he saw the flash of stricken concern that flitted across Louiz's face. "Shhh," Deir reassured him quickly, squeezing tighter for a moment. "I don't want to be _here_ ," He said again, and let the emphasis speak for itself. "I want to be where you are. Next time you go to Lake Leistel, take me with you. Let me see the loudmouth Emperor you hate so much."

Louiz's expression soured, even as he nodded. "I guess you'll have to meet him at some point. You might be disappointed."

"I don't think I will be," Deir replied honestly. 

A lot had changed in the space of twelve hours—Louiz's smile hit him right in the gut, warm and vibrant and sparking along all the nerves of his body. "Do you remember what I asked you, in the study?" Louiz asked, and when Deir shook his head the Emperor shifted his position on the bed to face Deir more directly. If his expression had turned a shade more serious, it was offset by the way he reached back to take Deir's hands in his own. "I don't want to give this Empire another war-stained champion, Deir, and I don't want to destroy your home. Even if I _do_ I mislike how they treated you." 

He always sounded so confident, Emperor Louiz, except when he spoke about this. It was that, more than anything else, that left Deir convinced. "I remember," he prompted softly, leaving room for Louiz to finish.

"Then help me, Deir. I can control the people of Leistel. I've been raised for it. I _am_ it. I am going to show this Empire what a bloodless triumph looks like. Be my Kerryman, Prince Deir. Be the voice I need so I can keep our peace with the people of your lake."

Politics. Deir wasn't sure whether to hug Louiz or spit on him. "Alright," He answered, and spoke on quickly before Louiz could begin to hear things that Deir _hadn't_ said. "I'll help you, Louiz. But I _won't_ be your Kerryman son. I won't be your Prince Deir. I can't. Don't ask me to be something that doesn't want me anymore."

There was a moment where Deir wondered if his pridefulness had been too much. If he had said more than Louiz could accept. But then Louiz reached forward to cup his face, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones, and Deir knew he had been heard. "Just Deir, then," Louiz told him. "Be Deir, and be mine. Be the place where even an Emperor can run and hide. Be the place I go when I need to be myself."

As if that was something Louiz still needed to ask for. Deir looked down at the place where their knees still touched, pressed together in comfort. Looked at his arm, his scarred right arm, that had not once bothered him the entire night they had spent in here together. Looked at Louiz, looking back at him.

“Yours, then,” he murmured, and gave in to that sweet soft touch of wonderment that had crept over him. “Yours.”

**Author's Note:**

> If you are struggling to envision the dress scene, I regret to inform you that this was my entire moodboard for that sequence: https://www.tiktok.com/@calebrownn/video/6897762418198416646?lang=en


End file.
